


Awake

by Striker66



Category: Transformers (Bay Movies)
Genre: Drama & Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues, Original Character(s), Science Fiction, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2020-05-14 03:05:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 89,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19264666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Striker66/pseuds/Striker66
Summary: An accident leaves a girl dealing with more than the usual residual effects. Those around her believe what she is experiencing is all in her head; however, when hallucinations turn out to have a base in reality she finds herself amidst an ancient war with some very unique companions.





	1. Skies of Change

The sky was grey with clouds, heavy with the promise of rain, as two girls made their way down the dirt path that ran through the small forest bordering their school. Multicolored packs were slung low on their backs, laden with homework for the coming weekend.  Despite this, math and English were far from their minds for this was the weekend they both would be attending the most prestigious of events; the birthday of one Sarah O'Brien, who reigned over the school as the most popular eighth grade girl that had ever graced its halls. 

“I still can’t believe you were able to get us invited!” squealed Alexandria, skipping a few steps while grinning at her best friend.

“I know, right?” Cassie gushed. “Tomorrow we’ll be at a thirteenth birthday party! Just imagine what it's going to be like. The kind of stuff we’ll see!” Her eyes closed briefly, picturing an elegant white cake topped with beautiful frosted flowers, free of insulting caricatures of clowns and princesses. Expensive foil balloons would float lazily in tasteful bundles, not subjected to abuse by the party goers. It would be a sea of frilly dresses, styled hair and painted nails amidst conversations bursting with the latest gossip.  

“Sarah won’t have any of that stupid baby stuff. She’s a teenager now, an adult. And that will make us adults too.” Cassie flipped her red curls over her shoulder and strutted ahead with her chin held high.  

Alexandria couldn’t help but shove her playfully. “You wish!” she laughed. “Just ‘cause we go to her birthday doesn’t mean we’re going to change or nothing. I mean, I don’t think I’ll feel older just because of a party. I know I definitely won’t look older.” Her Converse scuffed against the ground, dislodging a random stone from its warm bed within the dirt. “It’d be nice though, not being treated like little kids anymore. Nobody ever listens to us.”

“ _ Pfft _ , who cares about that?” Cassie scoffed. “The whole point about being older is that we get to do what we want when we want.” A giddy look crossed her face. “Well, that and we’d get boyfriends, of course.”

Alexandria’s face scrunched up. “Yeah, I still don’t think a party is going to make all that stuff happen.”

Cassie tossed an arm over Alexandria’s shoulders. “You aren’t thinking the right way about it. You need to think positive.” She tapped her temple. “That, and we’re going to change how we look, which will help.”

“I guess so,” Alexandria muttered, still not entirely convinced.

“Also, I’ll be doing your makeup and you’re going to borrow some of my clothes.” Cassie tugged at the sleeve of Alexandria’s oversized t-shirt before pulling away to walk out in front again.

Alexandria glanced down at her front. “What’s wrong with my clothes?”

“It won’t do us any good to go to Sarah’s with you looking like your  _ mom _ still dresses you,” she teased before bolting down the path.

“Shut up!” Alexandria lunged after her, fully intent on repaying Cassie with a few sharp pokes to the side that always made the redhead collapse in a pile of wheezes and giggles.  

A sudden gust of wind sent the trees and bushes around them into a brief frenzy and Alexandria dodged the wayward branches. She glanced at the sky as she felt light drops of rain begin to pelt against the top of her head.  

“Hey, Cass, wait up!”

“Nuh-uh!” Cassie hollered over her shoulder. “You’re going to be mean to me!”

Alexandria stopped running, bending over to catch her breath, a nasty stitch running across her right side. “Truce, then!” She managed to call between gasps.  

Cassie wandered back down the path, eyeing Alexandria with caution. “Promise?”

“Yeah, cross my heart.” Alexandria smiled and straightened up, the sharp pain slowly fading away.

“You need to run more in gym; you totally suck at it.”

Alexandria blew a wayward strand of blonde hair out of her face.  “I’m stronger than you, that’s all that matters.”

Cassie stuck her tongue out in reply.

“Now who looks immature?” Alexandria giggled, joined in by her friend.

A sharp crack of thunder startled the girls and both looked upward this time. The air around them had grown cooler and had an almost electrical quality about it.

“We’d better hurry up, my hair is going to be ruined if we get caught in a downpour.” Cassie laced her hands protectively over her head.

Alexandria nodded in agreement.

The path became less defined as they made their way alongside an area set up for a housing development. Reddish-brown dirt stained the bottom of their shoes, crumbling as they made their way along a slippery shallow embankment around the perimeter.  

“So… are you sure your brother will be there?” Alexandria started to worry. Sarah wasn’t a good person to disappoint and she was positive if Andrew didn’t make his appearance, it would be trouble for the both of them.

“Um, duh?” Cassie rolled her eyes. “I’ve already promised him half my allowance.”

“But what if he doesn’t end up doing what she wants?”  

It had all been part of the agreement to let the two girls into the party. Sarah was well known for having a massive crush on Cassie’s older brother and had told Cassie if she and Alexandria wanted an invitation then Andrew would have to show up as well and give her a birthday kiss.

An evil grin showed up on Cassie’s face. “Well, that’s why I’m holding onto his dirty little secret. He won’t dare back down if he doesn’t want our parents to see it.”

“I still can’t believe you took his magazine from him,” Alexandria laughed then grew thoughtful. “Have you… looked at it?”

“Oh, gross.” Cassie made gagging sounds. “There’s naked girls in it! He’s such a perv.” She eyed Alexandria suspiciously. “Why? Would you have looked at it?”

Alexandria’s face grew red. “No, of course not. I was just asking, that’s all.”

“Right, you pervert.”

“Cassie!”

Cassie continued in a singing voice. “You and my brother would be great together, two perverts looking at dirty magazines!”

Alexandria shuddered. “As if. You’re brother is way too old, that’d be super weird.”

“Fifteen isn’t old.”

“It is for me,” she replied.  

“Ugh, I wonder if all guys get like him when they’re that age.” Cassie grimaced. The magazine she had wasn’t the only one she’d found. She’d uncovered his stash in a case under his bed when she’d been searching for the television remote. Upon its discovery, Cassie had promptly shrieked and kicked it halfway across the room. It was only after she had gotten over her initial disgust that the idea to blackmail Andrew popped into her head. Apparently, the issue she had slid into a plastic bag with her shoe and then hidden in the basement had been one of his favourites.

“It won’t matter if they do. We’ll still have each other.” Alexandria gave Cassie an awkward hug that was returned in earnest. They both giggled again as they slipped and slid on the uneven terrain, holding onto each other as best as possible.

“Best friends forever!” Alexandria called out.

“Besties for life!” Cassie replied.

Another thunder clap with a streak of lightning made them both shriek.  

“C’mon, we need to get to my house already!” Cassie took off again. 

Alexandria went to follow when a sudden glimmer caught her eye. She paused and peered across the construction lot, seeking its source.

The area was desolate, given the approaching storm. Large machines sat silently amidst mounds of dirt and piles of lumber. It was eerily quiet, except for the occasional pitter-patter of the drizzling rain. Alexandria shivered as another cold breeze swept across the open area and it was almost enough to make her forget the random light entirely. Another bolt lit up the sky, illuminating her surroundings, and she was able to make out the sharp edge of an object half-buried in the large embankment across from her.

Her curiosity piqued, she slid down the bank to the leveled terrain, made her way across a small, open expanse, and around various construction equipment to the wall of red clay. 

The object was difficult to distinguish from its place of rest, so she tentatively scooped away the dirt until she was able to get a good grasp on it. A sharp yank had her stumbling back as it came loose suddenly, bringing part of the embankment with it. 

Alexandria yelped and jumped out of the way as dirt and stones tumbled down, chasing after her retreating sneakers. Her foot caught on a piece of lumber, sending her sprawling and eliciting a sharp gasp of pain as she connected with the wet ground. The object remained clutched tightly to her chest as she scooted backward to avoid being buried under the weight of the falling wall. Fortunately, the debris soon lost its momentum and settled just short of her position.  

Alexandria heaved a sigh of relief and tried to calm her racing heart as she clambered to her feet. She looked at her prize, wiping away the clinging red soil, and discovered it was a shard of grey metal with a blue tint when turned to the light.  An odd consolation for a stupid idea that had left her muddy and shivering from the cold. The shard felt cool in her palm and was heavier than expected given its size. She turned it this way and that, inspecting its oddly textured surface which was covered in strange etchings. Her thumb stroked over them one at a time as she tried to figure out where it could have come from.  

“Alexandria, what are you doing?”

The shout startled her out of her thoughts and she glanced up to see Cassie standing on the path with her hands on her hips.

Cassie fixed her with a glare. “It’s like you want us to be caught in the storm. If my hair gets wet, you are going to be the one I blame,” she warned.

“Okay, okay, I’m coming,” Alexandria muttered, starting back towards the treeline.  She broke away from the surrounding equipment and came into full view of her friend, bringing her hand up high and displaying the shard. “Wait ‘til you see what I found. ”

The sky crackled. Blue-gray metal and pink flesh were outlined by the brilliant white flashes above.

“It’s pretty weird looki—”

Every muscle in Alexandria’s body violently spasmed into excruciating tight coils as the lightning strike surged through her. Electricity snapped in the air in erratic arcs accompanied by blinding light that obscured the surroundings. Time stilled as a searing fire ignited within, stealing her breath and leaving silent agony in its wake. There came the loud booming clap of thunder following its electric sibling and then, finally, just the soothing shower of rain.

It wasn’t until the distorted sounds of screaming reached her ears that Alexandria realized she was lying on the ground. She tried to reply to the screams, recognizing Cassie’s voice, but her lips refused to move and her chest was in a vice grip that made it difficult to breathe. She wanted to tell her friend she was alright. She needed to reassure her, to comfort her.

The screams grew distant. A brief glimpse of red was seen along a green backdrop as Cassie retreated into the forest. Alexandria couldn’t move to follow, only lie in the muck, as motionless and silent as the machines around her. Her vision began to cloud over as a gentle haze whispered its way across her eyes and enveloped her mind. Thoughts slowed and slurred together into a thick, welcoming black tar that cooled everything it touched.  

As she surrendered to the oncoming darkness, Alexandria’s eyes settled on the hand where the metal shard had been, her fingers twitching sporadically, clutching at the empty space that remained.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I’d like to thank my beta reader, Lmere19, for all of the assistance with this story.


	2. Ghosts in the Night

Alexandria watched the small metal rings as they spun above the ornate desk; their perpetual movement and soft creaking sound giving her a headache. A small beam of light crept through the heavy drapes beyond, promising a mild spring day and she wished she were elsewhere. A picturesque image of her curled up with pencils and sketch paper in the bay window of her living room tantalized her thoughts with warmth and comfort. Unfortunately the office of one renowned Dr. Benson remained and the droning of his voice, coupled with the scratch of a ballpoint pen, kept the room anything but welcoming. He was one of three psychiatrists she had been to over the past year, and just as those who came before him, believed he would be able to help her.

“Alexandria?”

She dragged her gaze from the kinetic sculpture to glance at Dr. Benson from under long lashes. She kept her arms wrapped around her and legs crossed, feeling bare under his stern spectacled vision. He sat in the chair across from her with his pen hovering above the black ring-bound book that he always scribbled in whenever she spoke.  

“Alexandria?” he asked again.

“What?” Her chin remained tucked close to her chest, making it easier to avoid direct eye contact.

The scratching came again.

“I asked if the voices were occurring more frequently.” His pen stilled, prepared to capture her response in ink.  

Alexandria shifted and rubbed her hand across her right forearm. “Almost every night now.”  

The pen moved and Alexandria briefly contemplated remaining silent for the rest of her appointment. It would however be a waste of the money her mother had worked so hard for. She sighed heavily and continued, “There’s another voice now, a new one.”

“New one?” His eyes narrowed, continuing to write entire paragraphs in response to her brief sentences. It was unnerving to think of what they contained.

“Yeah, two nights ago. It’s higher pitched than the others but softer somehow… I… I don’t know. It’s new, that’s all I’m sure of.”

“How many voices does that make now?” he asked.

“Seven.”

Dr. Benson cleared his throat and removed his spectacles for cleaning, using the tiny silk cloth he kept in his breast pocket. “This is not what I was hoping to hear today. The Risperdal I put you on last month should be helping to reduce your delusions. You are taking them every day, correct?”

Her stomach churned. “I don’t like them.”

“Alexandria.” His voice was soft in a gentle warning, causing her to flinch.

“I take them. My mom makes sure of it,” she reassured quickly as his disapproval would be communicated to her mother and Alexandria wasn’t sure if she could handle disappointment from the one person who gave her unconditional support.

“Good to hear. If you are experiencing side effects I can prescribe you something to help.”

“More pills?”

His pen moved again. “Sometimes Alexandria, it takes many medications to help control health problems, especially mental ailments such as yours.”

“I’m not crazy,” she whispered.

“I never said you were.”

Alexandria hung her head and rubbed angrily at her eyes which had begun to fill with tears as Dr. Benson continued to write lovingly in his book.  

“Have the voices ever told you or made you feel like you need to harm yourself or others?”  

It was a question he asked every time they were together; a routine practice but it still bothered her to no end.

“Just like I said before, no.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes!” She burst out with more force than she’d intended. He paused to look up at her with mild surprise.  

“There is no need to yell, Alexandria.”

Her posture slumped in submission. “I’m sorry. It’s the same as before though, I can’t understand what the voices are saying.”

Dr. Benson harrumphed in thought then tilted his pen toward a large manila envelope lying on the cushion beside her.

“I see you brought your drawings with you this week. Are you still finding the art sessions beneficial?”

She picked up the envelope and held it across her lap. Her fingers gently traced the front, bringing a smile to her face. “I love them. We get to try out a bunch of different art supplies and everyone is really nice.”

“They are not meant to be fun, Alexandria.”

The smile faltered.

“They are an alternative method of communicating your thoughts and feelings using varying mediums,” he continued. “I expect you to treat them with the same level of seriousness that you bring to our own sessions. They are meant to help you get well, understood?”

“Yes,” she replied.  

“Good.  Now, were you able to complete the assignment I requested?”

Alexandria handed over the envelope and Dr. Benson drew out several sheets of paper.  

“It’s the last one,” she informed him.

He took a moment with each one, turning a few of them around to view at different angles. When the last drawing was revealed his brows knit into a concerned frown. The page was flipped over toward her.

“Can you describe your drawing to me?” 

She looked from him to the paper and back again, not quite sure if it was some sort of trick. Granted she wasn’t the most skilled artist but Alexandria was fairly sure the objects in the picture were more than distinguishable.

“I don’t think I understand.” She hesitated, hoping Dr. Benson would clarify but he remained silent, continuing to hold out the page before her. “It’s a pair of hands.”

“And what is being held between them?”

She felt herself shrink back a bit into the leather cushions. “The world.”

“The world,” he repeated in a soft voice. “I asked you to create a self portrait and this is what you visualized?” He inspected it again. “Can you explain why you drew what you did?”

“Well…” she hesitated, unsure how to put it in words. “I tried drawing my face, but I didn’t like how it kept turning out. I even asked for help during one of my art sessions.”

He nodded at the answer and, feeling encouraged, Alexandria continued.

“One of the assistants told me a portrait doesn’t always have to be of the head, it just has to represent who I am or how I feel about myself. So I tried doing that.” It was a simple explanation and the easiest one she could come up with.

“And you drew your hands,” he concluded. “But why the world?”

“I’m not sure,” Alexandria admitted. “My mom thinks it’s very pretty. She called it  _ poetic _ .” She smiled again, remembering how happy her mother always was when she saw her art. “She thinks it shows me as being a caring person. Maybe someone who wants to help the world. Be a nurse or a teacher—”

“I do not care what your mother thinks. I want to know what  _ you _ think, Alexandria.”  

“I think my mom is right” Alexandria murmured. 

He cleared his throat and looked as if he was about to say something more but the buzzer on his desk sounded, alerting them that their time together was coming to an end.

“I think we have made some advances today.” He sounded optimistic even though Alexandria felt as if this was no different than any other session. He passed her the drawings before going to the single door to call in her mother, who was waiting patiently in reception.  

Mary Taylor entered and gave a kind smile to her daughter as she sat on the leather sofa, squeezing Alexandria’s leg reassuringly. Dr. Benson returned to his place and tapped his notebook with the pen.

“You will be happy to know we have made some progress,” he began.

“Well, that’s good,” Mary said, leaning forward to hear the news.

“Yes it is.” The pen rolled lazily between his finger and thumb; all of its writings about to be paraphrased to her mother. “Alexandria’s condition goes beyond post traumatic psychosis, which is why some of her medications have not had the results we hoped for.”

A confused frown graced Mary’s face and Dr. Benson continued.

“The ongoing sleep dysfunction coupled with the belief that the voices are more than dream remnants make me believe Alexandria is suffering from schizophrenia.”

Her mother’s mouth dropped open almost comically. “That’s what you consider progress?” she exclaimed.

Dr. Benson held up his hand. “This is good news, I assure you. An accurate diagnosis means that we can focus her treatments properly.”

“But schizophrenia? How is that even possible?” 

Alexandria’s stomach felt like it was twisting into knots. She didn’t want to have a diagnosis, especially one that made her mom react the way she had.  

“What is it?” Alexandria’s voice trembled.

“In basic terms, it is a brain disorder, Alexandria. Common symptoms are hallucinations, such as hearing voices, and delusions, like your belief that these voices are an attempt to communicate with you. It tends to start in young individuals and likely the accident with the lighting strike was a trigger.” The tiny cloth appeared again and slid over already immaculate lenses. “What I cannot tell you is if the incident led to the development of schizophrenia or if the incident just created an earlier point of symptom onset,” he explained. “What is concerning to me is the rapid evolution of your symptoms. The voices you are hearing are increasing in frequency and intensity and this is major red flag that your disorder is not adequately controlled and could lead to further, more severe, complications.”

Mary shook her head. “The voices are only in her dreams though. Just… terrible nightmares. A lot of people have bad dreams, especially after something as traumatizing as what she went thro—”  

Dr. Benson cut her off abruptly. “It is not normal to have the same dream every night. Dreams naturally fluctuate. They are a disorganized and illogical series of images, sensations, and thoughts that occur in the mind during sleep. Dreams also do not affect the wakened state to the extent that they have been for Alexandria.”  

Mary looked over at her daughter. “Well yes, but—”

“She is also showing negative signs of schizophrenia such as difficulties in forming and maintaining social relationships, and poor performance in school.” Dr. Benson clasped his hands together and smiled, an eerie contrast to the worried expressions of the women. “This is good news,” he repeated. “Catching schizophrenia in its early stages means a better prognosis and chance at a normal life.”

His reassurance seemed to calm her mother but did nothing for the dread Alexandria was feeling. She already knew where this was going; even further alienation from others her own age.  

“How long do you think it’ll take for things to become, well, normal for her?” Mary asked, wringing her hands in her lap. “It’s already been over a year since the accident and I know Alexandria is still going through a terrible time making friends, especially with all of the moving we’ve had to do over the past six months.”

“We should see some improvement within the next few months, but it will take at least a year before we can achieve a sense of normality. And in all honesty, it would be highly beneficial for her to have a stable home environment.” Dr. Benson flipped open his notebook and he peered over the rim of his spectacles at her mother. “Is there a chance you two will have to relocate again?”

“I could put a notice in at work, letting them know I’m not available, but you know… you need to go where the money is, right?” Mary fiddled with the zipper on her purse, which was kept tightly clutched to her lap.

Dr. Benson scratched out her response then tapped his pen against the paper. “I understand completely, but it would be in Alexandria’s best interest if you made every effort to remain where you currently are.”

Her mother nodded her head in agreement. “I’ll do my best.”

“Excellent!” The notebook was closed forcefully with a loud clap. Dr. Benson stood up and walked briskly over to his desk, grabbing the thick square pad of paper that sat atop it. His pen scrawled what Alexandra felt was a really long prescription, then tore the page off and handed it to her mom. “This is a different antipsychotic that has been shown to be excellent in helping to control hallucinations. I have started Alexandria on a small dose and if tolerated, I will increase it gradually as needed.”

Her mother looked over the prescription. “Seroquel?”

“Yes. It has quite an impressive safety profile.”

“What about her other medications?”

“I do plan on stopping the Risperdal but at this time I want her to continue taking it as usual, since an immediate discontinuation could result in rebound effects,” he explained. “She will remain on the others as they will have a beneficial effect on her mood and sleeping pattern in the long term.” 

With that, Dr. Benson settled behind his desk and turned to his computer, subtly dismissing the pair from his office.

Mary tucked the prescription with care into her purse and gave another reassuring smile to her daughter before rising and exiting the room, Alexandria following silently behind her.

0-0-0-0-0

 

The soft glow of the Ark’s thrusters flashed periodically, keeping the large vessel in a lazy corkscrew. It drifted through a section of space that was fairly devoid of the usual visual beauty that helped break up some of the monotonousness of interstellar travel. A lone blue giant hung in the distance, its cool blue light illuminating the ship's hull and filtering through the ports to combine with the silence of the metallic halls, creating an eerie feel.

Many of the vessel’s prior occupants had left the security of the Ark to scout the surrounding star systems for traces of the AllSpark; an ancient artifact that was the very life force of their home planet, Cybertron. There had been moments when leads were so numerous that the AllSpark seemed within reach, only to have them all result in dead ends, or worse, renewed warfare against the Decepticons. The aptly named, militaristic faction opposing the Autobots also sought the AllSpark, as its vast power could sway the war to the Decepticon’s favor and ultimately be the violent end of any who did not conform to their ways. Their presence brought an ominous sense of urgency to the mission and made it wrought with hardships that affected even the most stoic of Autobot soldiers. The lives of fellow brethren in arms were taken away, dwindling an already shrinking population, and creating new wounds that ran deep. Nonetheless, the crew of the Ark pushed through challenge after challenge and, when even the faintest hint of the AllSpark was discovered, it was met with unwavering strength and determination; failure came with too heavy a cost.

The light permeating the interior was broken as a silver shape moved purposefully through the halls. It was curiosity that spurred the bot toward the infirmary. The Ark had recently come into contact with a strange vessel that appeared to be made of alien technology mixed with Cybertronian. Extensive damage had rendered it to an inoperable state, setting it adrift and vulnerable to the elements, and any life-sustaining functions of the much smaller ship had long since ceased. Several organics had been discovered within, hovering listlessly in the zero gravity. They had been taken to the infirmary by the Ark’s chief medical officer while their ship was being disassembled in the docking bay for information. Usually Jazz would be assisting in the heavy labor but it wasn’t every day you came across new life forms and he didn’t want to pass up the opportunity to observe them in person before they were sent for incineration.  

The bay doors hissed open allowing him access and two pairs of optics glanced over as he entered. Jazz grinned, realizing he hadn’t been the only one interested in the discovery. The gold and black mech standing off to the side of the examination table whirred a happy greeting, prompting Jazz to give him a friendly pat on the arm as he approached.

“Heya Half-Pint. I see they finally let you out of the comm room.” He crossed over to a stack of heavy supply crates and nimbly hopped up onto the top one, allowing him a scenic view of the room.

A sharp chirp came in reply along with a mild prickling sensation at the back of Jazz’s head.

_ "You know that nickname doesn’t make anymore sense, right?" _ Bumblebee asked over inter-Autobot frequency, his brow plates lowering in a frown as he regarded the other, smaller, bot.

Jazz nodded and the grin widened. “Of course. You remind me every time you can.”  

_ "And yet you keep using it." _

“I will until the day I die or the day it stops annoying you. Whichever comes first.” He shrugged, amused as the younger mech puffed his exhaust in exasperation.

An irritated grunt interrupted the good natured banter and both turned to the room’s final occupant. A heavy bioscanner tapped against one hand as medical officer Ratchet waited for the pair to fully settle and then held the silence until it became awkward before addressing them.

“I knew it was a mistake telling Optimus about this exam with Wheeljack in the room.  That slagging mech can’t keep his mouth shut. He’d probably make noise in a vacuum.” The bioscanner tapped a little louder before being powered on. “Now I have to put up with you two barging in here expecting to be entertained. Primus save me.”  

Jazz and Bumblebee shared an amused look but wisely kept quiet, knowing the scanner was hefty enough to cause a solid dent in mental if thrown with the force that Ratchet was known for. Any objects not bolted to the hull became formidable projectile weapons in his hands and were used freely on any poor bot who spurred his wrath.  

“This is a serious process,” he continued. “There may be valuable information on these organisms that can lead us to the AllSpark.”

“Well then Doc, open them up already.” Jazz gestured at the prone form on the exam table.

A concerned whirr came from Bumblebee, his optics widening a bit in alarm.  

" _ You’re going to cut them open? _ "

Ratchet huffed and shook his head. “Unnecessary and impractical. Dissection of organics tend to be messy as their internal systems are essentially fluid-filled compartments held together with membranous sacs.” A green light washed over the small creature multiple times as Ratchet tapped in varying frequencies. “Scans will suffice, along with precision tissue sampling.”

“Too bad it has to be fleshings,” Jazz commented with a frown. The other organic species he’d met in his travels hadn’t given him the most enjoyable of memories. Sentient or not, they all tended to spew bodily fluids with ease. “I’d think I’d rather take my chances again on that predatory information planet than visit a world full of meatbags.”

This earned him a stern glare from Ratchet. “Please show a little respect for the dead, Lieutenant,” he advised in a low tone. He nodded slightly in the direction of Bumblebee, who had moved closer to the table and was watching the exam with intense curiosity; an impressionable young mind that didn’t deserve to be influenced by the personal biases of fellow crew members.   

Jazz’s shoulders hunched. “Sorry Doc.  Didn’t mean anything by it.”

The apology was met with silence and Jazz relaxed, knowing it had been accepted, although he still felt a mild lingering of shame. He prided himself on being a good role model for Bumblebee but sometimes his blunt nature got the better of him. He rubbed awkwardly at the rim of his visor. “So...what do you think killed them off?”

“Exposure.”  

“Doesn’t seem like it’d take much.” Jazz leaned forward on his perch as Ratchet inserted several fine needles into copper colored tissue. There was very little physical variation in the form; the torso and limbs were covered in the same smooth monotone skin that seemed to offer very little in the way of protection. A mass of fine dark hairs covered the head with shorter variations on several other areas of the body. “No exoskeleton, plating or shielding.  It doesn’t seem to have any defensive structures.”

“She. ”  

Jazz cocked his head. “What?”

The samples Ratchet had extracted disappeared into the ship’s cryobank and the scans uploaded to the Ark’s primary storage unit. Several holos flickered to life showing varying molecular structures and three dimensional images of the creature’s internal organs.  

“Cellular carbon based lifeform with dimorphic features. This one is likely the female sex of the species and they”—Ratchet gestured at two shroud covered forms behind him—“are the males.”

“A few pics tell you all that, huh?” Jazz remarked as he studied the holo of a triangular shaped mass with several tubes extending from it. 

It was the second time he elicited a disapproving sound from Ratchet.

“Your faith in my skills as a senior medical officer never ceases to amaze me.”  

The heavy sarcasm made Bumblebee trill with amusement, earning him Ratchet’s attention.

“And what do you find so amusing, Scout?”

Bee held up his hands in mock defense and attempted to look as innocent as possible.  " _ Nothing at all." _

Ratchet clicked, rolling his optics before returning to sample collection. Skin scrapings and hair clippings joined their internal partners in the cryobank.  

" _ You need to stop getting me into trouble. _ " Bumblebee chided Jazz.

“Hey, if I’m going down, I’m making sure to take as many with me as I can.” Jazz laughed. “Besides... if memory circuits serve me right, you tend to get into enough trouble on your own.”  

" _ Don’t you dare…" _

“I seem to recall a race in the lower decks between Sideswipe and a certain bot who was on strict medical leave.” He tapped his chin. “Now…who was it that initiated the challenge?”

Ratchet groaned, covering his face plates with his hand. When he had gotten word that his patient, who had been recovering from grievous injuries, was putting his alt-mode through high velocities in cramped obstacle filled spaces, he had almost gone into spark failure.

Bee threw his arms wide. " _ Really!"   _

Ratchet stabbed an accusing finger at Bumblebee who took a tentative step backward. “If you  _ ever _ pull a stunt like that again I’ll solder your chassis to the bulkhead.” He brought himself to his full height, dwarfing the other bots. “Of all the half-clocked ideas to ever come out of that head of yours, that has to have been the worst. I was this close”—his fingers almost pressed together—“to having Ironhide turn me to slag.”

" _ You’re over exaggerati _ — _ " _

“You were put under my care and therefore  _ my _ responsibility.”

It had been Optimus who ordered Bumblebee’s extended confinement to the Ark’s medical bay following the battle at Tyger Pax; the site of the AllSpark’s launch into space and the site of a fierce battle between the factions. Bee had been in stasis lock for the majority of that time, but after having come to, staring at medical equipment was fun for only so long. As most of his injuries had been repaired, aside from the damage done to his vocal processor, the only thing he actually had been suffering from was a severe case of restlessness; hence how the race with Sideswipe had come to pass.

Bee waved off Ratchet. " _ I was fine,"  _ he reassured. " _ You all just worry too much."   _

“And rightly so,” Ratchet muttered. Jazz nodded his agreement.

" _ At least it wasn’t all that bad."  _

“I  _ fail  _ to see how,” Ratchet drawled.

Bee smiled, raising his shoulder in a half shrug. " _ I won. _ "

Jazz let out a sharp laugh. “You have to give him that, Doc!”

Ratchet grunted. “I suppose so. Although, Sideswipe needs to stop underestimating his opponents.” 

Ratchet had chastised the normally superior speedy mech after the race; first about accepting the challenge and then about losing due to his own arrogance, ending with a heated lecture about tactical readiness. Sideswipe had merely leaned against a wall and took Ratchet’s ranting and raving in stride then dismissed himself, but not before promising Bumblebee there would be a best out of three. He had easily avoided the crate Ratchet threw at him.

" _ If he did, it wasn’t for very long considering how far behind he was within the first stretch." _

“Don’t go spinning your wheels there, Half-Pint. You know good and well Sides leaves you in the dust when it comes to pure speed.”

_ "Obviously." _ He smirked, crossing his arms and shifting weight onto one leg. " _ Why do you think I chose the course I did?" _

“Oh for the love of Primus!”  

The exclamation had Jazz laughing uproariously at Ratchet who had slouched forward and was shaking his head back and forth. Jazz jumped off the crates and went over to pat him on the arm.  

“There there, Doc. It’ll be okay.” He pointed to the organic. “How about we get back to work. Work always makes you feel better, right?” His voice warbled in a feeble attempt to hold back his laughter.

Ratchet gave him a dour look. “There is no reason to treat me as if I am a youngster,” he stated. “I just have trouble with one.” Part of his hand rearranged its shape creating a surgical drill as he nonetheless took the advice.  

The high-pitched whine of rapidly rotating metal filled the room followed closely by an acrid odor as soft tissues dissolved, allowing the drill deeper passage. However, it was the shroud covered forms that drew Bumblebee’s attention. They lay side by side on the table, small and motionless. Bee gently drew back a corner of the thin cloth exposing the head and upper torso of one of the bodies. A half charred face stared up at him with a single opaque eye; its partner lay as a shriveled lump within its socket. The burn ran down the length of the jaw to join a starburst pattern of fissures that projected outwards from a mouth held agape by the constraints of ruined flesh. Bee’s acknowledgement of the suffering the creature must have endured, at what was likely a horrifically violent death, was echoed in a soft sorrowful moan.  

" _ This one,"  _ he said, lightly tapping the metal table. " _ Was it a fire?" _

Ratchet paused to glance over at the body in question.  

“No,” he replied as lenses in his optics rearranged themselves into intricate layers, enhancing the image. “The pattern on the skin is consistent with an arc flash.”

_ "Was it fast?" _

The ease of telling falsity in an attempt to comfort was momentarily considered; the change in Bumblebee’s demeanor wasn’t lost on Ratchet and it seemed a noble intent to maintain innocence in those that still held the fragile quality. Clarity, however, was a virtue in itself especially considering the role he held in the Autobot force.

“The facial burn, although extensive, would not cause immediate critical failure. As these organisms are gas exchangers, it is feasible to deduce he inhaled the resulting plasma and ionized particles causing cellular death of respiratory parts as evidenced by the scarring around the mouth.” He held Bumblebee’s gaze. “It did take time for him to cease functioning.”

Bee nodded. He left the other shroud where it lay, keeping the third body from sight.  

Ratchet huffed his vents. “If you would excuse me, I think I would like to complete the rest of the examination alone.”

Jazz shrugged at Bee, the surprise of the sudden dismissal mirrored between them.  

“Yeah, no problem, Doc.” Jazz jerked his head, motioning for the other to follow. Bee replaced the shroud and nodded politely to Ratchet as they left the medical bay.

The corridor remained vacant of other Autobots and their footsteps the only noise breaking its silence.  

“I suppose I’ll head down to see how Wheeljack is doing with the dismantle,” Jazz said. “I assume you’re heading back to the excitement that is communications?” 

Bee gave a long drawn out sigh. " _ What I wouldn’t give for a change of pace. Scanning for transmissions in this area of the galaxy is as fun as watching energon crystalize."   _

“Temping Primus isn’t the smartest idea”—Jazz warned—“because before you know it, you’ll be up to your optics in action and you’ll be begging for quiet again.” He thumped his hand twice against where his chassis covered his spark.

Bee snorted. " _ You’re so superstitious."   _

He shrugged. “You never know.” 

" _ I’d even welcome a run planetside just to get the feel of dirt against my wheels again."  _ Bee waved at a viewport as they passed; the inky black stain of empty space staring back at them.  _ "But even that’s a far stretch here." _

They paused by a turbo-lift and Jazz rapped Bee lightly on the arm.  

“I’ll let you know if Jackie and I find anything,” he promised as his body started to contort and change; transforming into a sleek ground alt-mode. He revved his engine, enjoying the promise of speed that the vibrations created as they flowed through him. “Just if you could do me a favor in the meantime, Bee” he called out as he pulled away.

_ "What’s that?" _

“Remember to stay out of trouble!”

There came several loud growls behind him of what he was fairly sure would have translated into some very choice words. His laughter echoed down the halls.


	3. Change of Plans

Steam floated up from the sink and covered the mirror in a thin film, obscuring its reflective surface. Small droplets formed and travelled in an erratic downward pattern, picking up speed as they went, and finally falling off the mirror’s edge to land on the counter Alexandria braced herself against. She swiped a hand across the glass, revealing a pale face set against dark puffy eyes. The last few nights hadn’t been too kind and left her feeling even more drained than when she had gone to bed. One finger gently poked just below her lower lids and she wondered again if what she was doing was a good idea.

“Alexandria, you’ve been running that sink for the past ten minutes!” her mother called out from downstairs. “Hydro isn’t cheap!”

“Sorry!” Alexandria hastily turned off the tap, wiping up splattered water that dotted the surfaces.  

“And get to bed, young lady, tomorrow’s a school day!”

Alexandria refrained from replying, knowing her mom wouldn’t appreciate the sarcastic undertone that was more frequent in her voice when she was tired.

Several plastic pill bottles lined up neatly on the counter’s ceramic surface; each containing  _ cures _ — nausea inducing, mouth drying, overly sedating cures. She selected the last two and tapped out a single tablet from each onto her palm. It was hard to believe how something so tiny could have such an impact on her life. She gripped them tightly as her other hand slid into the sleeve of her pajamas to feel the scarring along the inside of her forearm. Tiny patterns decorated her skin with their thin white lines, beginning at her wrist and ending just shy of her elbow. Lichtenberg figures, her doctors had called them; common in lightning strike victims and apparently only temporary, however hers had yet to show any sign of fading. Alexandria traced one of the intricate curves with her finger, feeling the raised flesh and she shuddered. Her hand wrapped around her forearm as painful memories surfaced, ones she didn’t wish to relive. Her grip tightened briefly, the pressure helping to counter an overactive mind, bringing her back to the present. The skin was blanched when she removed her hand and she gave her arm a quick shake, making sure not to accidentally toss the pills she still held about the washroom.

The medication ended up on the bedside table, joining a cup of water, and she flopped down on top of the bed covers with a random school book. It wasn’t long until she heard her mom ascend the stairs to lightly rap at the bedroom door.

“Yeah?” Alexandria flipped to a random page, trying to look somewhat interested in the content.  

Her mother came in and surveyed the room as she did on a nightly basis, tsk-ing softly at the piles of laundry strewn about the floor. They disappeared into the hamper and Mary pointed at several stacked boxes in the corner.

“I see you’re making progress in unpacking. You’re down to what, four boxes instead of five this month?”

Alexandria shrugged. “It’s all stuff I don’t use a lot. I’ll just have to pack it up when we move again anyway, so what’s the point?”

Mary sighed and sat down on the end of the bed. The lines between her brows appeared deeper than Alexandria remembered and her clothing a bit more creased.  

“Honey, I know you’ve had to put up with a lot but I’m trying. I really am.”

The strain in her mom’s voice cut into Alexandria and she bowed her head. She could feel her lower lip tremble and the prickling of tears. It was always a raw moment whenever they touched on the incident. Every difficulty, every hard choice always came back to Alexandria feeling as if she were the cause. She had veered off path, gone where she wasn’t supposed to go and touched something she shouldn’t have, starting a chain reaction that didn’t seem to have an end.

“I’m sorry,” Alexandria mumbled. “I’ll put them away.”

Mary gave her an encouraging smile. “We’ll have this place feeling like home. It’ll get better, I promise.”  

The squeeze to Alexandria’s leg was meant to be reassuring but faltered just shy of its intended effect. Mary stood and pressed a goodnight kiss to her brow.

“Don’t forget to take your pills,” she reminded her.

“I will. I’m almost done reading.”

Another smile and Alexandria’s bedroom door shut followed by the retreating sound of footsteps.  

Alexandria sat in silence for a few moments ensuring she wasn’t going to be disturbed again tonight. There came a far away clinking of dishes and running water and she relaxed. Her mother had been right to promise that things would get better, just maybe not in the way neither her nor Dr. Benson would have chosen.

Carefully and quietly Alexandria leaned over her bed to feel along the underside of the frame. Her fingers came into contact with thin plastic and she pulled out a small ziploc bag; the contents of which remained intact and undiscovered. The pills from the nightstand joined their duplicates in the bag and it was resealed with care and returned to its hiding place. The voices, although never fully eradicated, had become muffled and distant with the medication her psychiatrist prescribed but once Alexandria stopped taking them over the past week, the effects had reversed and the voices were even clearer than they had been before. Every night after falling asleep she would awaken within her dreams of sound and there she would concentrate and focus on each voice, attempting to decipher the cryptic messages they spoke. If she knew what they were, she could figure out how to stop them.

Alexandria drank the cup of water to maintain the deception and snuggled under her covers once she’d plunged the room into darkness.

Tonight would bring her one step closer to understanding. One step closer to becoming normal again.

 

0-0-0-0-0

 

The navigational chart hovered in the air, consisting of thousands of glittering lights. Each light was a representation of a star and its collection of planets, all of which could be a potential resting place of the AllSpark. Retrieving the artifact always seemed an immense task to Bumblebee, especially when viewing the galaxy from this perspective. It was further complicated by the fact the chart wasn’t even fully complete; only sections of space that had been mapped by other Cybertronians — Seekers mainly — showed within the three dimensional holo, while unexplored areas were represented by empty voids. It was difficult and time consuming enough to search the known sectors but uncharted space brought severe repercussions if not trodden lightly. Black holes, unstable stars, wormhole fields, and aggressive alien lifeforms tended to be the most frequently encountered forces leading to Cybertronian disappearance and loss of life amid the stars. The worst were those that followed the survivors home. 

Bumblebee recalled the mass hysteria that a single wayward ship had caused when it had been found drifting at the border of Cybertronian space. A mining barge had come across the personal space cruiser after responding to faint traces of spark energy onboard. Unknown to the barge’s crew, a dormant parasitic creature had burrowed within the cruiser’s unfortunate pilot; reactivating itself once in proximity to its food source. It hadn’t taken long for the crew to become compromised by the vicious and rapidly replicating scraplets and, in panic, one bot set the barge on a course for Cybertron at maximum drive. The destruction the scraplets wrought when the ship crash landed had been severe enough to cause a momentary peace between Autobots and Decepticons; one of only two times in recorded history since the Great War’s beginning.  

Bee’s digits slid across the console and the star chart rotated and enhanced the section of space that had been logged as the cruiser’s prior destination before returning to Cybertron. It was enclosed by a vivid red sphere indicating it as strictly off limits. A shudder ran through his circuits. He had been offworld at the time but had seen enough holos of the scraplets and their hunger for living metal to instill a deep sense of fear into his spark. Being consumed from the inside out was something he  _ never  _ wanted to experience. Primus help them if the AllSpark had ended up on the scraplet homeworld or worse. Aside from the thousands upon thousands of star systems in their own galaxy, there were neighboring galaxies as well as the dark space between them. 

That was the problem with wormholes; you never knew where one would spit you out.  

It had been both blessing and curse when the AllSpark was lost to the wormhole that was in proximity to Hectate; one of Cybertron’s satellites. There were only certain times during the orbital cycle when the wormhole connected to a finite number of known destinations and those exit points had been under Autobot control ever since Optimus first proposed sending the AllSpark off world. The wormhole had taken it out of Decepticon reach as planned however, due to a surprise attack by Megatron close to the hidden location of the AllSpark it had been launched prematurely, thus effectively rendering it to the whim of the spacetime continuum.  

Bee leaned forward, letting his helm strike the console with a loud thump. At least Optimus had been confident that the AllSpark was still within their own universe. Not that it had given him much reassurance.  

The console beeped angrily at him and he shifted off the controls to lean against one hand. He tapped a few commands in, zooming in on a sector with several pulsing green lights. Ironhide was fairly close to their current location and yet it had been awhile since his last transmission.  

" _ Teletraan 1 to Big Bot. Respond Big Bot,"  _ Bee said over the inter-frequency, using the Ark’s transmitters to amplify his range.

The message he sent went unanswered. Bee hummed and tried again.

“ _ Teletraan 1 to Big Bot. Overclocking not advised Big Bot." _

_ "Big Bot to Teletraan 1. It would take a lot more than a hunk of abandoned rock to achieve that, Scout." _

He trilled, hearing the gravelly voice of the weapons specialist. " _ Glad to know you’re still functioning, Hide. Started to think you ran into some Cons. Or were just ignoring me on purpose." _

_ "Sorry ‘bout that, Bee. The weather on this planet is scrap. You caught me at a good time actually,"  _ Ironhide replied. Static followed, affirming the complaint.  _ " _ — _ ergon lines. Not much else." _

Bee frowned.  _ "Need you to repeat that. Part was cut off."  _

Silence answered and it began to stretch on as the moments passed. Bee ran through his normal routine; signal strength was tested and tweaked with minute precision and rough details added into the database ensuring the planet would be flagged for known communication disruptions. The chronometer for Ironhide’s location was reset and similar messages were sent to the other Autobots in the nearby sectors. A reply wasn’t expected though, as they all were beyond the limitations of inter-frequencies. At most they would know the Ark was in the area and would respond to a distress signal. He leaned back in his seat and waited as there wasn’t much else he could do to improve the connection.  

_ " _ — _ of a glitch, fraggin’ useless excuse for a planet. Scrap metal junk in my aft _ — _ "  _

_ "Welcome back."  _ Bee laughed at the cursing mech. " _ Should I include that in your report to Optimus?" _

_ "Better mind your superiors or I’ll make you manually scrub the filters the moment I get back there." _

Bee whirred and shook his head at the jest. _ "That seems both impractical and inefficient,"  _ he countered.

_ "Builds character." _

An overly dramatic groan came from his auditory transmitters at the paternal remark. Having heard it throughout his whole life Bee felt he had done enough character building for an entire fleet, much less one lone mech.   

_ "Anyway, all I’ve found here are a few raw energon veins. Nothing substantial though."  _ Ironhide continued.

Bee’s finger tapped several times against the console’s smooth surface.  _ "Bit strange considering the strength of the readings we picked up."  _ The Ark’s scanners were some of the best technology Cybertron had to offer; he highly doubted they had been feeding the crew false data.  _ "What about structural causes?" _

_ "Any inhabitants are long gone. I’ve come across a few ruins but they’re so weather damaged they’re little more than foundation. No, what we picked up is definitely alien to this world." _

_ "We could have been misled,”  _ Bee suggested.

_ "I’ve thought the same."  _ There was momentary pause as Ironhide considered his options.  _ "I’ll continue my search. No point in sending my aft across space if I start backing out of missions because of a challenge." _

_ "And if it’s Cons?"  _ Bee asked.

_ "Then they’ll join the ruins." _

If only confidence guaranteed success there’d be no need for worry on Bee’s part.

_ "Stay safe out there, Big Bot,"  _ Bee said, hoping Primus did indeed keep watch over Cybertron’s children from time to time.

_ "You too. Ironhide out." _

The transmission was cut and Bee was alone again with the console. There was a brief pang within his spark at the thought of the gruff Autobot’s prolonged absence. It had been some time since Ironhide had left the relative safety of the Ark and it would be nice to once again have a conversation between them that didn’t involve the use of signal augmentation or stasis.

He watched the green lights, each a representation of a friend amid the stars. Ironhide, Arcee, Mirage, Prowl, Sunstreaker, and Cliffjumper. His optics moved from one light to the next matching them to their associated name and face. All experienced and formidable opponents on the battlefield and yet so isolated and vulnerable when viewed from his position;  so very scattered and distant.

_ "Hey Bee!" _

He jumped at the sudden, loud and excited voice of Jazz over the inter-frequency. His head tilted slightly, wondering what riled up the other mech. He sent a tone through the connection letting Jazz know he was paying attention.

_ "By Primus if you thought what we saw with Ratchet was interesting, you gotta see what Jackie and I pulled out of this ship the organics were using."  _ Jazz said.

_ "What did you find?"  _ Bee’s voice held a tense quality to it that Jazz picked up on immediately.

_ "Relax Half-Pint. It’s not the exact location to the AllSpark or anything. Don’t go getting your hopes up prematurely." _

Bee’s expectations fizzled back into non-existence. He really should be used to disappointment by now considering how often it occurred.  

His digits drummed against his leg.  _ "So what did you find, if not the AllSpark?" _

_ "Well, a lot actually."  _ Jazz replied.  _ "First and probably the most important is that this ship has definitely been designed using Cybertronian tech, specifically..." _ —he paused a moment, his next words emphasized by a low serious tone— _ "Decepticon tech." _

Bee blinked at the not-so-impressive reveal. The Cons were just as spread across the systems as they were in their own search for the AllSpark, so the chance of these organics encountering one wasn’t too improbable. How they managed to create a ship using Con tech was another feat as Decepticons weren’t known to be forthcoming with information outside of their own faction; much less their own species. It was highly plausible the Con had been subdued or even scrapped when the organics began their work.

He mulled the information over, wondering what could have triggered Jazz’s excitement over the alien craft. Regardless of intention or impact, a lone Con was barely more than trivial in the grand scheme of things; hardly huge news that the organic’s ship had been designed using one’s tech. There were exceptions to this however; several high ranking priority targets that always warranted investigation. Starscream, Shockwave, Blacko—.

An icy chill shot up his backstrut as one name came to mind in particular. A name belonging to a Decepticon that had been as lost as the AllSpark after following it through the wormhole. One whose madness and ferocity had plunged Cybertron into darkness in an attempt to gain absolute domination over their race.  

_ "Megatron."  _ Bee growled, the name leaving a bitter ache as his digits involuntarily grazed over his throat.

_ "Mm-hmm," _ Jazz confirmed.  _ "The signature within their technology is faint but Wheeljack is positive it’s his. And since Megatron follows the AllSpark _ — _ " _

_ "The AllSpark could be within the organic’s system." _ Bee ended.

_ "Perhaps. Or at the very least passed through it or nearby."  _ Jazz agreed.  _ "Either way it gives us a direction in which to focus our efforts." _

_ "That’s more than anything we’ve had recently."  _ Bee said as his optics travelled over the star chart again.  _ "And if Megatron is on the organic’s world it would be worth the time lost to go there and finish him. Cut the head off the Decepticon force." _

_ "You make it sound as if that’d be a simple task."  _ Jazz all but laughed.  _ "Taking on Megatron. We’d need an army considering the state we’re currently in."   _

_ "Optimus only has to give the word and everyone would return. We’d have _ — _ " _

_ " _ — _ still only a handful of us."  _ Jazz interrupted.  _ "Up against one of the best, if not the greatest, Cybertronian tacticians of all time." _

_ "Never knew you to back down from a fight before."   _

_ "I’m not. I just think we need to go about this the smart way. There’s a lot of risk putting him ahead of our search for the AllSpark, especially since we aren’t even sure they’re in the same area. We don’t want to give the other Cons an advantage by going in and attacking Megatron blindly." _

Bee’s foot scuffed against the metal floor panels as he remained silent. To be so close but still so far in everything they did was infuriating at the best of times.

_ "Look Bee… I can tell you right now you aren’t the only bot that wants to see Megatron offlined for what he’s done. He’s a monster and his end will come. Trust me." _

_ "I know,"  _ Bee replied quietly.

_ "Hey, I didn’t even tell you about the humans."  _ Jazz’s tone brightened considerably, hoping to improve the mood of his young friend.  

Bee’s antennae lifted slightly at the unfamiliar word.  _ "Humans?"   _

_ "The organics. That’s what they call themselves. Their ship is one giant information capsule about their homeworld, which Wheeljack pinpointed to somewhere within the Orion spur. The files are being formatted and uploaded to the database as we speak." _

_ "What’s the purpose of the information?" _

_ "Not sure, Half-Pint. Considering the technology they use is quite primitive, Ol’ Jackie thinks it might be a greeting of some sorts. Their way of saying Bah-weep-Graaaaagnah wheep ni ni bong I suppose." _

Bee shook his head.  _ "Seems odd, especially if they had a run in with Megatron." _

_ "Offer one hand while arming the other?" _

_ "Wouldn’t be the first time we’ve come across that."  _ Bee remarked with a frown. He inputted several commands into the console, directing any further incoming communications to the main bridge, and stood up from his post.  _ "I’ll take a look at the files.  It wouldn’t be a bad idea to become familiar with the species in case Optimus does give us the go ahead on a change of course." _

_ "Sounds like plan."  _ Jazz agreed.  _ "As for myself, there’s still a lot of metal that needs dismantling. Jazz out." _

With the connection terminated, Bee made his way toward operations where Optimus spent most of his time. It would be interesting to hear what the Autobot leader thought about the humans.

The massive doors slid open and Bee went to warble a greeting but the sound abruptly cut into static as he caught sight of Optimus in conversation with Wheeljack, their backs to him. Optics wide and body frozen, he held position, frantically hoping Wheeljack was oblivious to his entrance. When neither bot acknowledged him Bee hissed a relieved sigh and slowly started backing out of the room. One cautious step then the next as lightly as he could, turning gradually to head back out through the door.

“Hey! Don’t think I don’t see you there!” A voice called out and Bee slumped forward, caught. He glanced over his shoulder to see Wheeljack and Optimus watching him with irritation and amusement respectively. 

“You are late going into stasis, Bumblebee!” snapped Wheeljack, mouthplate fixed while lights alongside his helm flashing brightly with each word.  

Bee approached, giving them a guilty wave.  _ "Duly noted, Jackie. I just...got busy."  _ His posture straightened and he clicked a greeting as he looked up at Optimus who nodded in response; the Autobot leader’s optics full of warmth as he regarded his youngest charge.

“No excuses. One bot in stasis every other deca-cycle.” Wheeljack counted his digits. “Maintains optimal use of limited resources on extended voyages. Efficiency is affected with schedule disruptions.”

_ "I’ll be more than willing to have someone else go in my pla _ — _ "  _ Bee tried but an irritated grunt stopped the suggestion abruptly.  

“ _ Every _ mech and femme needs to remain at optimal functioning, able to depart at a moment’s notice if required. Stasis is the best way to repair wear and tear of body, mind and spark.” Wheeljack’s arms crossed, challenging Bee to try and get out of the obligation.  

_ "I wanted to speak to Optimus about the huma _ — _ "  _

“I’ve already updated him regarding the human ship and its contents.”

_ "I was going to review the fil _ — _ " _

“You can look at the data while in stasis.”

_ "You’re not going to chang _ — _ " _

“No I’m not and I’ll drag you down there if I have to, just as I would with any other bot on this ship.”

“Oh really?” Optimus’s baritone voice murmured, giving Wheeljack a skeptical look.

“Even you, Prime.” He nodded. “No exceptions.”

Optimus chuckled and placed a comforting hand on Bee’s shoulder. “Better heed his directions, Bumblebee. If you do however find anything of interest among the human data, feel free to bring it to my attention immediately.”

Wheeljack sputtered but a motion from Optimus kept his silence.

_ "And Megatron, sir?"  _ Bee asked. It was a question that couldn’t wait; couldn’t hang over him while he spent the next cycle alone in stasis. His digits twitched but he refrained from clenching them into fists.

Optic centres constricted as the subtle motion was not lost on Optimus. “ _ All _ courses of action are being considered,” he reassured, having reached the same conclusion as the other three. “I expect you to weigh the severity and consequences of each should the wrong one be chosen, as I am.”  

The weight of the hand was removed. Bee dipped his head, not necessarily placated but thankful for the added clarity. The reluctancy toward an immediate all out assault was simply due to the lack of strong evidence and, as such, acting on it could put lives at unnecessary risk as well as draw another world into their war. Neither were situations Optimus took lightly.

The two bots waited politely for Bumblebee to take his leave before resuming their prior conversation, but as the doors slid shut Bee made out Wheeljack telling Optimus about several new and strong AllSpark signals originating from Norma; the large arm that composed the central most region of their galaxy. It was a course that would veer them away from the human homeworld and away from Megatron.  

The thought was unsettling. His intuition had always served him well in the past and it was telling him now that they were finally heading in the right direction. They just needed a bit more proof and by Primus, if the human data held it, he would find it.


	4. Existence

The infinite void of stasis was welcomed by many as a place of tranquility for those seeking solitude; an area to collect thoughts, review experiences or simply exist within oneself. Others found it to be the more enjoyable route for dealing with extended passages of time or when in the process of healing as internal and external sensors were dampened, allowing easier management of harsh conditions.  

Bumblebee merely found it to be a lonely experience.

He stood within the virtual space, staring out at the abyss, the projection of his physical form turning slowly as he sought the signatures of fellow Autobots. It was both dismaying and comforting to find none, though he really hadn’t expected anything else. His range would have only reached Ironhide’s location, even when strengthened via an Ark terminal, and he already knew Ironhide wasn’t in stasis. It was something he did out of habit, however, hoping to find another bot with which to spend a few moments here and there. Anything to break up the lengthy monotonous solitary existence within the simulated program.

Bee sighed and shook his head. He was thankful at least that there was work to be done; something to occupy his mind and keep busy for a time.

“Bring up matrix packet 2551,” he called out, breaking the silence. The familiar sound of his voice tugged longingly at his spark; until Ratchet was able to repair his vocal processor, stasis was the only time he didn’t have to constantly resort to signal transmission.

The void around him shimmered briefly and a holographic representation of an operations module appeared. He input several sequences of code, bringing up a list of recently uploaded files to hover in front of him. He selected Wheeljack’s entry and a myriad of panels burst forth to surround the platform, depicting lines of data, images, and video recordings. Bee’s optics widened as they moved from one panel to another. Jazz certainly hadn’t been lying when he said they’d found a lot on the human ship.

He began sorting through, collapsing some of the data into groups of similar content while pulling out pieces that sparked his interest due to their inconsistencies: there were poor resolution off-world images of the human’s home planet, yet schematics for a deep space vessel; incomplete mapping of the human genetic code, yet a communication system that could easily span a star system. They all indicated knowledge pulled from an isolated source. A source that advanced certain aspects of technology forward by leaps and bounds and one that, if Bee wasn’t mistaken, wasn’t shared among their world as a whole. The numerous languages included, along with planetary maps showing geographical division, indicated a species separated into various factions, however any data relevant to Cybertronian technology always stemmed from the same single land mass. 

Bee hummed in thought as he walked to the centre of the platform where a large green-tinged orb had formed. It hovered before him, rotating slowly on its axis; a smooth surface of oceans interrupted by textured continents. A slight motion of his hand on the globe stopped its movement, focusing on one area in particular that sat high in the northern hemisphere.

If the Decepticon leader was indeed on the human planet, he was either in hiding or being kept hidden.

 

0-0-0-0-0

 

Alexandria knew she was asleep when she opened her eyes and was met by pitch-black surroundings. She could no longer feel the bed linens she had been cocooned in and her chest rose and fell with each breath yet no air passed through her nose when she inhaled deeply. The first few times she had experienced the out-of-body sensation she had been overwhelmed by panic from the suffocating feeling and had woken drenched in cold sweat. However, time and repeated exposure had helped her become accustomed to the surreal environment.  

Then the voices had come; foreign and erratic, softly at first and only one or two at a time. Alexandria was never sure which direction they came from or if the speakers were near or far so she had kept quiet and hopefully stayed hidden from them. It wasn’t until this past week she reached out, echoing the voices with her own, calling out to them, announcing her presence. Aside from some increased clarity the voices remained unchanged, giving no indication of an awareness she was amidst them. It was disappointing to wake each morning but her failures only spurred her determination.

Like each night past, she started this one the same; a greeting followed by a pause, hoping for a response.

“My name is Alexandria,” she called out, loud and with a hint of urgency. “I want to speak with you.” The voices continued on; five of them altogether, sometimes in sequence and other times all at once. She repeated her message but continued to yield the same result, earning a frustrated sigh.

There came a slight tingle on her cheek; the feeling of a wayward strand of hair brushing up against the skin. Alexandria swiped at it reflexively and jerked back at the sudden haze of green light in front of her face. It was the first visual stimulus she’d seen in the dark and it made her heart beat rapidly within her chest. She watched the light dance and move in the air and it took a moment for her to realize she could perceive the motions as those made by her own hand. Glancing down, Alexandria could see similar light beginning to creep upward from below and could make out the vague shape of her feet and pajama clad legs. She brought her hand close, flipping it over and flexing and extending her slowly materializing fingers; each gesture bringing forth finer details and sharper outlines. Squinting, she peered closely at her palm and saw tiny vertical lines of symbols making up its semi translucent form. They were in a constant state of flux, shifting and changing in response to movements of her appendage.

“Where am I?” she asked aloud, raising her head to face her surroundings only to note in surprise that it had also changed. She was no longer greeted by the dark canvas but now one dotted with the same green tinge and five brighter points of light. One for each voice, perhaps? It was hard to be sure.

No longer blinded, Alexandria now had a possible measure of distance between herself and the voices, if the lights did truly represent their source. A particularly vibrant one just off to her left seemed to be paired with a voice more active than the others so Alexandria determined it would be her goal. She began walking toward it, slow and unsure, her bare feet silent against an invisible floor.

Time ticked by and with each step her pace hastened a little more as everything around her remained constant. Her stride quickened until soon she was running, trying desperately to close the distance between her and the voice. The suffocating feeling returned, forcing her to come to a stop and bend over, bracing her hands against her legs as she tried to catch her breath. She caught sight of another light far below her, underneath where she stood, and she shut her eyes tightly as a wave of vertigo washed over her. 

Alexandria took a few moments to get her senses under control and quell the nausea that rolled in her stomach. She straightened up with a grimace and glanced behind her to see how far she’d come but her starting point was impossible to distinguish; she could have travelled two feet or two hundred for all she could tell from the lack of progress. She swore softly, pursing her lips unhappily, before pressing onward. This time she concentrated on the light, trying to focus on its sound alone. 

“I need to get there. I’m going to get there,” she muttered in an attempt to reassure herself. 

The light grew brighter and Alexandria’s pace faltered briefly in her surprise. Bolstered, she repeated her little mantra and quickened her steps, gaze never wavering.

There came a sharp tug within her chest, stealing her breath, and Alexandria felt herself being pulled forward rapidly. The voices became distorted while the light in front of her became a glaring beacon and she threw her arm across her eyes, shielding them from the intensity. The pulling vanished as suddenly as it started and she stumbled forward, managing to retain her balance to avoid falling flat on her front. She blinked a few times seeing spots and lowered her arm to look around. 

The platform she was standing on hovered within the black surroundings, its green tinge the same as that coloring her own body. There came a movement out of the corner of her vision and Alexandria turned and looked up, and then up some more.

“Oh my god!” she cried, lurching backwards and tumbling to her buttocks with a loud thump. A giant robot stood profiled at the other end of the platform; human-like in build and well over twice her height with a wide torso and long bulky limbs. A cold sweat broke out over her skin and her heart pounded in her ears as Alexandria frantically looked around for somewhere to hide but to no avail.

The robot turned toward her and she felt her muscles seize up and breath catch, expecting it to lunge the moment it saw her. But its gaze swept over her, unseeing, and it proceeded over to a sphere that hung nearby, seemingly unaware of her presence.

Alexandria let out a shaky relieved sigh, feeling herself tremble from the adrenaline. Even though it hadn’t seen her, she still tried to remain as motionless as possible while observing the machine from her spot on the floor. Its eyes were a vivid green, bright against the dark hue that colored everything else, and it had a circular piece over the mouth area. Instead of ears, two antennae perched on top of its head and they moved in sequence with each other periodically, lessening its menacing appearance. 

There came a series of whirrs, clicks, and rumbles from the robot, rapid in succession and each mixing with the last, creating a sequence of electronic noises, almost like sentences. Alexandria stifled a gasp, recognizing the sounds as the voices she had been hearing for so long. The thought of each one being linked to a giant such as this was intimidating.

The minutes ticked by and seeing how she wasn’t in immediate danger, her petrifying fear started to diminish and Alexandria was able to gingerly climb to her feet. She watched the robot for any sign that it was becoming aware she was there but it continued fiddling with the sphere. Cautiously she gave her hand a small wave. Still nothing. She decided to try pushing her boundaries and arched both arms over her head several times followed by jumping up and down. When even that didn’t get a reaction, she stood there dumbfounded, not really sure what to do next. The screens on the other side of the robot flickered periodically, catching her attention. Alexandria took a few steps forward, moving closer to see them better from her lower position. Her eyes kept darting back to the robot, fully intending to not be stepped on should it start walking about.

As Alexandria examined the images, Bumblebee was busying himself with marking potential coordinates on the globe of the human world. He paused after adding in one set, a frown gracing his features. All of the security scans he had run returned negative. Still he couldn’t shrug off the nagging feeling there was an error in his stasis programming. He had heard audible discrepancies not allocated to the human data. He glanced around again, deciding to run a few custom malware programs just to be sure. It was rare, but not unheard of, to have Decepticon signals infiltrating Autobot transmissions during stasis, trying to insert malicious viruses meant to cripple or offline a bot during critical system processes. Still, attempts such as those weren’t without massive risks to the attacking Con itself and assaults remained few and far between.

Once again everything checked out and Bee whirred in thought before uttering several commands, initiating a full security response. Better to err on the safe side.

Feeling somewhat more relaxed, Bee returned to work. The map was looking promising and he had several starting points he could consider as landing co-ordinates, should their travels be directed to the Solar system. He reduced the planetary holo to an overview and watched as it resumed its rotation, unaware of a pair of eyes watching from below.

Alexandria stood off a few paces from the globe staring in shock as she recognized the familiar planetary landmarks.

“That’s Earth,” she said just above a whisper.

It was the wrong thing to do, for the giant turned quickly in her direction, its eyes seeking the space around it for the noise. For the second time, her frantic back peddling had her landing on her backside. She clapped a hand over her mouth in an attempt to smother further sounds as the robot strode toward her.

It rumbled as its gaze swept the area and as it just crossed over her location, it paused. She watched in horror as its face tilted back toward her, eyes narrowing and hands clenching at its sides. She felt the foreign pulling within her chest again and looked down to see her body lose its transparency; remaining details filling in and surfaces becoming solids forms. Her head jerked upward to see the robot staring directly at her, its expression reflecting what could only be shock at her sudden appearance.

“You can see me!” she exclaimed, her voice elevated to a high pitch.

The robot blinked at the words then glanced to its hand as it began making several motions in the air off to the side. Glowing green squares flashed briefly where its fingers moved within the space.

“ _ You can see me... You can see me.. _ .”  

Alexandria jumped, hearing her words echo repeatedly around them. The robot cocked his head to the side as if concentrating on the sounds and then looked back at her.  

“Yes I can see you,” it said.  

She stared up at it from her position on the floor, jaw slack and wide eyed. “You… you can understand me?” It was difficult to keep from stuttering.

It nodded.

“Are you”—she swallowed hard, her heart fluttering within her chest — “going to hurt me?”

The robot reared back as if surprised by the question.

“No...” it, or rather he by the sound of its voice, replied, shaking his head and making a soft whirring sound. “Are you going to hurt me?”

Alexandria’s mouth opened and closed several times but words failed to materialize; at a loss of what to say from having her question directed back at her. The idea she could somehow cause something of his size any harm whatsoever was ridiculous.

“No,” she finally told him.

He trilled softly, the sound pleasant, and appeared amused by her confusion.

Taking care not to make any rapid movements, the robot sat down across from her, effectively making his stature much less intimidating. They remained in silence for several moments, each observing the other.

Bumblebee watched the tiny organic as she studied him and knew she was trying to determine if he posed a threat or not. As startled as he had been from her unexpected appearance, he had immediately recognized her as human. Her size and anatomical structure, although similar to the humans in the medical bay, were different enough for Bee to realize she matched the proportions of a youngling; a human child. His spark burned with curiosity of how she’d infiltrated his stasis but he held himself in check as it would do him no favors to dominate the situation with an interrogation for answers. Experience as a scout had taught him certain approaches fared far better than others, especially when dealing with other species. He sat there, motionless, hands visible and open to her view, with his legs tucked under him and face in what he hoped appeared as a friendly expression.

It seemed to be working. The tenseness of her posture faded and the fear that had dominated her face was replaced by what he considered was a curious look.

“What are you?” she asked; a simple yet important question and one Bee had expected.

“I am an autonomous robotic organism from the planet Cybertron,” he said, the statement well versed and used by every Autobot.

She gave a small gasp and sat up straighter. “Planet? You’re an alien?”

He nodded. “And you are a human from the planet Earth, correct?”

“Yeah.” Alexandria shrank backward slightly, drawing her limbs close and Bee silently cursed his error. “How did you know that?” she asked with a small shiver. 

Moving with care, Bee gestured at the holos behind him.

“Transmissions from your world. I’ve been studying them,” he said. Not quite a lie, but it kept the data’s true origin hidden.

Alexandria glanced at screens that continued to hover in the air; random images and lines of symbols continued to flash and scroll across them.

“Am I dreaming?”

Bee was unsure if it was fully directed at him as it had been asked so softly, her attention seemingly unfocused.

“Dreaming?” he asked. 

“I’m asleep right now,” she explained. “Am I dreaming this? Is this all just in my head?”

Bee rumbled softly. “I can assure you I’m quite real.”

“Does anyone else know about you?”

“On Earth? I’m not sure.” Another half truth.

Alexandria took a deep calming breath and stood up. The Cybertronian still towered over her, even while seated, but as he remained where he was, she took a small step toward him.

“Then… I believe I should…” she stammered, swallowing with difficulty and hesitating as courage surged and dwindled rapidly. She smoothed her palms down her sides and nodded. “I would like to greet you on behalf of my planet,” she declared, sticking her trembling hand out between them.

Bee tilted his head at the foreign gesture, so he mimicked her movement, bringing his own hand forward slowly, letting it hover near hers. They hung there awkwardly for a brief moment before Alexandria went to grasp his finger in a modified handshake but yelped and jerked away just prior to making contact.

“What’s wrong?” He leaned closer, searching for the cause of her sudden distress but was answered by a light giggle.

“That tickled.” Alexandria inspected her hand, a smile playing across her lips.

Bee trilled again. “Oh, that’s just the unique electronic signatures being in proximity with each other.” He stopped, noting her blinking up at him, a crease in her brow. “Since neither of us are here, physically, we can’t actually make direct contact,” he tried to explain. “Instead of pressure, as you would experience feeling a solid object, it creates a tingling like sensation from the electrical charge.”

Apparently this was satisfactory enough for her and she sat back down, although this time closer to him.

“My name is Alexandria,” she introduced herself, one hand placed flat across her chest. “What’s yours?”

“Unfortunately, there’s no direct translation of my name in your language,” he said, rubbing a hand against his chin. “At least, nothing you would be able to pronounce.”

Her shoulders dropped a bit. “Oh. Well, what is it in your language then?”

Bee gave her an amused smile. “I think you’ll run into the same problem.”

“Let me try.” She shifted a bit in her spot on the floor, hands clasped in her lap; the image of an eager pupil.

Bee shrugged and complied with the request; sounding out his name as clearly as he could for her.

Alexandria’s brow knit in concentration as she tried to copy the series of clicks and rumbles he had made and Bee couldn’t stop from laughing at her attempt.

“Not close, huh?” she asked.

He shook his head. “No, sorry,” he replied, still chuckling. In addition to mispronouncing the more complicated phonetics of his name, she had missed the low frequency tone underlying the ending. What she had actually said was fairly similar to one of the more colorful Cybertronian profanities.

Alexandria harrumphed, running a hand through her hair to scratch at her scalp. “That was harder than I thought.”

Not wanting to disappoint the little female, Bee ran a brief analysis of the data files.

“The closest word in your language to my name is ‘Bumblebee’,” he told her.

“Bumblebee?” She giggled. “I like it. Nice to meet you, Bumblebee.”

“Nice to meet you too, Alexandria,” he said with the utmost sincerity. “And if I may say so,  _ Bah-weep-Graaaaagnah wheep ni ni bong _ . Our universal greeting,” he explained.

As Alexandria repeated the new foreign words, with much better success this time, Bee reevaluated her responsiveness toward him and seeing how she was more amused than frightened he concluded it may be a good time to begin probing for details regarding how she’d accessed stasis. It was rather worrisome, as the process was unique to his species and she’d evaded every security measure he had thrown at her, most of which should have decimated any intruder.

“So Alexandria” — he tapped a digit against the floor and tried to keep a light tone — “do you come into stasis often?”

She glanced around. “Is that what this place is called?”

“Yes.”

“I’m not really sure. Tonight was the first time I actually saw anything besides darkness. Usually I just hear you guys talking and that’s been happening for a year now.”

Bee quickly calculated the time measurement into one he was more familiar with and was surprised to learn she’d been present through several stasis cycles with other Ark crew. 

“Talking?” he asked, for as far as he was aware no one else had encountered an anomaly in stasis, nevermind made contact.

“I heard voices. They were saying things that sounded like your language. I always thought they were speaking to me and I just couldn’t understand…” she trailed off, looking at him hopefully.

Bee shook his head. “I was unaware of your presence before now.”

“Oh.” Alexandria was disheartened to learn the voices hadn’t carried any sort of relevance. Rather she was nothing more than an intruder, eavesdropping on conversations not meant for her. “So there’s no big purpose for me being here then.” The strain in her voice caused the words to waver. She had hoped there had been some sort of significance behind everything she had gone through.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Bee confirmed. “By all accounts it should be impossible, which is why it is very important for you to answer this next part as truthfully and in as much detail as possible.” 

“I’ll try, Bumblebee,” Alexandria whispered, eyes downcast.

The sudden change in her demeanor made Bee pause. He sensed his disapproval of her presence had triggered a strange melancholy. If he hoped to get the answers he sought he needed her to remain an interactive partner. He got to his hands and knees and leaned over her.

“Hey,” he said softly, bringing one digit close to her shoulder.

The mild prickling sensation roused Alexandria and she looked up to see his face close; warmth in his bright green eyes.

“I meant it when I said it was nice to meet you, Alexandria,” he told her, whirring softly. “And whatever this is, however you got here, I’ll do what I can to help you. We’ll figure things out together, don’t worry.”

She sniffled. “You know, you’re the nicest giant robot I’ve ever met.”

Bee chuckled. “Oh, so you’ve met  _ other _ giant robots?” 

“Of course not,” she said, her face widening in a grin. “Just you.”

“Well then I’ll let you in on a secret.” He moved in close, optics glancing back and forth, and cupped his hand near his mouth. “I’m the best one,” he whispered, giving her a quick wink.

This earned him a delightful series of giggles from her and he trilled, happy to have changed her mood around.

“So what was your question anyway?” she asked after having calmed down.

“I need to know how you got here,” he said. It was blunt and forward, so he tried to keep his voice as gentle as possible.

Alexandria shrugged. “Like I said before, I fall asleep at night and wake up in here.”

“And this started a year ago,” he recapped. “Did something happen at that time?”

Alexandria hesitated. It was always difficult telling new individuals her story, and it was a situation she liked to avoid, much to the disapproval of her psychiatrists who felt that it was an unhealthy way of coping. She had however promised Bumblebee she would tell him what she knew and perhaps it would be different with him; being an alien meant possible avoidance of the human stigmas surrounding personal health. Alexandria began to tell him about surviving a lightning strike and her subsequent hospitalization. He sat with her quietly, nodding periodically as she recollected how it had felt; the associated pain and periodic blackouts she had experienced afterward. However, details regarding her health after discharge home were completely avoided as she didn’t see how they were pertinent to his question.  

Bee hummed once she’d finished, bracing his hands against the floor behind him and leaning back slightly; head upturned. Several expressions crossed his face as he ran through the scenario, trying to piece together its connection with accessing stasis. Finally his shoulders slumped and he gave a disgruntled buzzing sound.

“As impressive as it is to survive such an ordeal, a massive surge of electricity wouldn’t umm…” he trailed off as he searched for a word that fit the situation, “connect… you here.” 

“Oh.” Alexandria fiddled with the sleeve of her pajamas.

“Are you sure there isn’t anything else?” he asked. “Anything, even if it’s something small.”

Alexandria huffed with dismay, her forehead furrowed. “I don’t think s — ” she began but stopped abruptly as her thumb brushed underneath the cloth just distal to where the scars started. 

Bee noted the hesitation. “What is it?”

“There… might be one other thing but I’m not sure if it was real or I just imagined it,” she said slowly, grasping at vague memories. “I found a piece of metal and I was holding it when the lightning happened. At least I think I was because it disappeared...” she trailed off, hoping she didn’t sound completely out of her mind.

“Metal?” 

She glanced up at the change in the intensity of his voice to see he had stilled, his antennae perked up above his head.

“What kind of metal?” Bee asked as his spark seemed to pulse hotter within its chamber.

“I don’t know. It was grey and heavy and it had these weird markings on — ” Alexandria was interrupted by a sudden pressure within her head. She grimaced and braced her palms against her brow, feeling a throbbing ache just behind her eyes. 

“Alexandria?” Bee’s concerned voice sounded distant even though he was only a few feet from her. She looked up at him and realized his form had blurred, while her own body had regained its transparency. In fact, the entirety of her surroundings had also changed, becoming distorted and fuzzy with darkness creeping in from the periphery. She called out as everything disappeared and began to struggle against an unknown force only to jerk awake in her own bedroom, the sheets tangled around her.

Morning light was filtering in through the window chasing away the last remnants of night. Alexandria sat up and ran a hand through disheveled hair, trying to shake off the grogginess of waking abruptly. She stretched, satisfying stiff muscles, and glanced at her clock to see it was quarter to seven. A heavy groan escaped her lips. She felt both physically and mentally exhausted and she rubbed her eyes vigorously as she tried to piece together what had happened last night while she slept. The voices had been present as always but there had been something else, something amazing...

_ Bumblebee. _

The name floated up from the recesses of Alexandria’s mind and everything came rushing back, eliciting a sharp gasp from her. Out of all the possible scenarios she had imagined, the voices turning out to be giant alien robots was definitely something she had  _ not  _ anticipated. It was exciting enough to find out aliens existed but to realize she had made contact with one was dizzying. She flopped back against the mattress, grabbing her pillow and covering her face with it and she gave several muffled squeals of happiness into the soft cover.

“Alexandria, it’s time to get up for school!” her mother called out from downstairs.

“Coming!” she yelled, flinging the covers off and jumping out of bed. She took the stairs two at a time. “Mom, guess what?” she asked as she burst into the kitchen.

Her mother glanced her way from a position near the open fridge. “Well someone’s excited this morning,” she commented before continuing to rummage for breakfast ingredients. “What has you riled up so early?”

“I need to tell you —”  The meeting with Bumblebee was on the tip of Alexandria’s tongue when she stopped abruptly, realizing she’d almost made a terrible mistake in telling her mother what had happened. She had no proof of the encounter and, just as with the voices, her mother would think it had all been a hallucination; something else her brain had conjured up and something that could lead to even more medications. The thought was terrifying.

“What is it, sweetheart?” Mary asked, placing glasses of orange juice on the table.

“I…” Alexandria stuttered, glancing around the room and spotting a carton of eggs on the counter. “I’m really hungry this morning and we should make pancakes,” she said rapidly. 

“Uh-huh.” Mary gave her an odd look before pointing at a cupboard. “Well then grab a bowl, I’ll start the stove.” 

“Okay.”

As Alexandria did what she was told her thoughts drifted back to Bumblebee and she realized she may never be able to tell another about him. He would have to be her secret and, in all honesty, she was okay with this. She smiled as she mixed the batter, happy that he’d proven to her what she considered was the most important thing — she wasn’t crazy.

 

0-0-0-0-0

 

Bumblebee stood over the spot where Alexandria had been, searching for her signature but finding no evidence of the tiny human. He gave a frustrated growl at whatever had interrupted their conversation and ended the stasis program with haste. The simulated environment flickered and vanished, replaced by a large circular chamber as he powered back on and opened his optics. There came hissing from behind him as he disconnected himself from the terminal port. Wheeljack would be unhappy with his rapidly cut short stasis but Bee didn’t care as the events he’d just experienced required immediate attention from Optimus. He took two long strides then lept forward, transforming into his alt-form mid jump and he raced off down the hall with a roar of his engine. The goal of finding the AllSpark was so close he could feel it in his circuits. Soon they would have it back under Autobot protection and with it, finally be able to return home.


	5. You Are the Revelation

The second hand made its leisurely way around the white face of the clock, which sat high above the classroom door. It was a guardian of time, a dictator of when the bell would sound and, in Alexandria’s mind, a device of pure torture. Barely five minutes had gone by since she last checked on its progress and she returned to her doodling with a long drawn out sigh, shifting impatiently on the stiff plastic planks that composed her desk chair. The thick multicolored block letters she had drawn in marker with painstaking detail stood out boldly on the page compared to the rapidly scrawled pencil notes below them. Alexandria smiled as she read the name over and decided to add a small star beside it as it seemed fitting given who the name belonged to. She only had to make it through several more hours before she could visit her secret alien acquaintance again; assuming he was still there and she was able to locate him again amid the other voices. The thought made her giddy with anticipation and she subtly looked about the room, wondering if anyone had caught her grinning like an idiot at her paper. Her classmates sat around her, oblivious to the reality of aliens living within their universe. This insight into something far greater than any one of them would ever experience made Alexandria a part of an extraordinary situation and she relished the feelings of delight it created.

A change in the tone of her teacher’s voice drew Alexandria’s attention to the front of the room and she realized Mr. Andrews had completed another blackboard detailing events of Roman emperors. Covering a yawn with one hand, she copied the information at a pace that made her fingers cramp yet it wasn’t fast enough to capture everything before Mr. Andrews swiped away the chalk to continue the lesson. Alexandria huffed in dismay at the half finished paragraph on her page and leaned to the side, trying to read the work of the girls sitting beside her but with no such luck. She scratched a long wavy horizontal line across the page underneath her notes as a personal reminder they were incomplete and copied the new content below.

Alexandria gave herself a mental shake realizing she’d missed most of the class because of her daydreaming. She watched Mr. Andrews pace at the front of the room, gesturing enthusiastically with his hands as he described civilization as it would have been during the time of Ancient Rome. History wasn’t a particularly difficult subject to pay attention to when it was taught by such an animated teacher, yet Alexandria couldn’t stop her mind from drifting back to Bumblebee as she wondered about the similarities and differences between Cybertronians and humans. She was brimming with questions she wished to ask him. Did he have a family? Were there multiple races of his kind? What would happen if they came to Earth? Knowing how members of her own species tended to treat each other with cruelty, she could easily see it extending to others not of her kind and, if Bee represented the size of the average Cybertronian, the thought of the magnitude of damage an entire army of them could bring about in retaliation was disconcerting. She shuddered and pushed aside several post apocalyptic man-versus-machine images from her mind, shifting her focus yet again to Mr. Andrews’ lesson.

Three blackboards of notes later, another glance at the clock revealed a much more satisfying length of time had passed and it wasn’t long until there came a hollow ringing, signaling the end of the period. The entire class livened at the sound; jumping up from their seats, stuffing supplies into bags or overloading their arms, and the room was filled with excited buzzing conversation. Alexandria’s pack grew heavier as she added her own books and she waited in her seat to allow the students from the back rows room to pass on their way to the door. She followed the last one, smiling shyly at the pretty brunette who had nodded at her in thanks, and walked to where Mr. Andrews was busy cleaning off the boards. 

“I have my assignment,” she spoke up over the din of the room, placing several stapled pages onto the desk. Clapping excess chalk off his hands, Mr. Andrews picked it up and skimmed over the paragraphs briefly.

“Thank you, Alexandria,” he said, holding it in the air between them. “Just next time please be more mindful of the deadline.” He opened a desk drawer and deposited her work within. “You’re going to lose marks because it’s late and those added to any other deductions can be quite a chunk of your grade.” The warning, although necessary, wasn’t unkind and Alexandria nodded along with it. She liked Mr. Andrews greatly. Being rather young himself, he had a very open and friendly manner with his students, treating them with a mentor-like disposition rather than authoritative. 

She felt another yawn coming on and tried to hide it unsuccessfully. Mr. Andrews leaned against his desk, studying her with a small curl at the edge of his lips and a raised brow.

“Didn’t sleep well last night?” he asked.

“Yes… no… well maybe,” she answered, her cheeks flushing a dark pink.

Mr. Andrews’ laugh bounced off the walls and Alexandria found herself smiling despite her embarrassing response.

“That has to be the most unsure answer I’ve heard yet this week,” he said, running a hand through his neatly trimmed beard. “If we’d had a test today I would have to be worried about you.”

Alexandria shifted her bag to the other shoulder and gave a soft snort. “I just can’t remember, that’s all.” 

“Well I hope your memory at least retained an answer to this next question because if  _ my  _ memory serves me right” — he shuffled a few papers around on his desk and selected one detailing a long list of names — “you still need to give me your speech topic.”

_ Crap… _

He waited patiently as her thoughts raced through the past hour in hopes of triggering something familiar. One name  _ had _ stood out among the rest; its owner experiencing an exciting enough life that a speech detailing the events didn’t seem too much of a hassle. She grasped at the name frantically; it reminded of her a drink. Wine. Champagne…

“Charlemagne,” Alexandria stated proudly. “My speech will be on Charlemagne.”

“Ah, Charles the Great, Emperor of the Romans,” Mr. Andrews exclaimed. He scribbled Alexandria’s choice beside her name on the list. “A very interesting leader and…” he smiled at her, “one of my personal favorites.”

Alexandria stopped herself from wincing and she shrugged haphazardly. “Mine too,” she said, her voice a tad higher pitched than usual. 

“I look forward to hearing your speech then.” He slid up his shirt sleeve and glanced at his watch. “I think I’ve taken enough of your time. You should get to your next class.”

He resumed his work on the board and Alexandria made her way to the door, the ache of disappointment in oneself twisting in her gut. Every psychiatrist she’d been to had always considered success in school a reflection of the effectiveness of their therapeutic interventions for her. If she wasn’t careful she could draw unwanted attention to herself and that was something she couldn’t afford; not when such clarity and wonder was just on the horizon.

 

0-0-0-0-0

 

Bumblebee paced within his second bout of stasis and grunted as time dragged by. He reached the edge of the platform and peered over at the void, which was as bleak and empty as always. His vents huffed and he turned to resume his back and forth travels, counting each step; twelve total from one side to the other. Patience had never been one of his stronger virtues, much to the frustration of a few senior Autobots. He checked his internal clock for the umpteenth time. If his calculations were correct, Alexandria could show up at any moment. Bee wondered if humans were highly specific when it came to their sleep cycles and Earth’s twenty-four hour orbit. Ratchet had been helpful in deducing humans required frequent periods of rest in order to function correctly. 

He sighed, needing something to take his mind off of the waiting before he drove himself crazy. The analysis of the human data remained incomplete and the idea of watching some of the recordings came to mind. With a shake of his head he dismissed the option as it would have been too much of a distraction. 

Glancing around carefully, he sought any sign of Alexandria, even making sure to check behind the console. Humans were such a small species it would be easy to overlook her signature, especially considering how faint it was even with her fully materialized within the program. 

There came a questioning prickling in his cranial chamber and he shook his head.

“ _ Not yet,”  _ he replied to the unseen presence. The sensation came again, stronger and with an irregular pattern that made him roll his optics.  _ “My sensors are up as high as I can put them without blowing a circuit,”  _ he grumbled in reply, although he still checked his recent audit logs just to be sure. 

The presence withdrew itself to hover just beyond his stasis field and Bee continued his surveillance of the tiny virtual environment. He whirred at its familiar setting in its black and green entirety and wondered how it must have felt for Alexandria to stumble her way into it. The image of her delicate features frozen with fear came to mind and he shifted uncomfortably. Even though his stasis program suited his needs just fine, he did begin to see how it could have a cold and rather unwelcoming appearance to an outsider. 

_ Not that stasis was the only thing that scared her.  _ Bee frowned, recalling one of the first questions she’d asked him. Unfortunately there wasn’t much he could do in terms of physical appearance in stasis as one of its limitations included only allowing the user to be depicted in their true form, minus appropriate color rending of course. In Alexandria’s case, that meant getting his sixteen foot bipedal self in all its glory. 

He whirred softly as this left him relatively few options in regards to creating a more inviting situation for the organic. He toyed with the idea of changing the backdrop, perhaps to something Earth-like in appearance, and the more he thought about it, the more likely it seemed to provide the most viable solution. 

All the images in the human data files were far too low resolution to use, so Bee resorted to browsing his personal archives for planetary holos he’d taken during his travels. The data packet for Stadus 8, with its never ending plains of flowing citrine-colored grasses and pale blue sky, seemed ideal at first glance until Bee remembered the planet’s primary species had been a subterranean worm that ambushed prey from below. One had tried its luck in making a meal out of Ironhide, much to the amusement of the rest of the ground team, by grabbing hold of his ankle plating with its trio of serpentine tentacles. Ironhide had simply glowered at the offending creature as it attempted to work its much-too-small pronged beak around his armor. Bee grimaced; somehow the holo didn’t seem as appropriate, knowing a human would be an easy two-bite meal for the worms. He filed the data packet back into place and scanned several others until he had a reasonable selection to work with.

There came a sequence of sharp beeps from his auditory sensor and Bee stilled, listening closely to the muffled thumps and soft billows it had recorded. He scanned the ground slowly and, to his delight, found the faint green haze he had hoped for. It flickered in and out, a weak glimmer against the black, and Bee further relaxed his security protocols much to his unease. Alexandria slowly fazed into view, her back toward him and her shoulders heaving in pace with her winded breathing. Bee let out a light chirp causing her to twist around. Her smile upon seeing him was almost bright enough to light up a room.

“You’re still here!” she cried, rapidly closing the distance between them and giving him a thorough once over.

“Of course.” He knelt down, peering at her curiously. “Were you expecting otherwise?”

Her hand rubbed along her arm as she shifted her weight. “Maybe?” The uncertainty in her voice was apparent and Bee watched as she captured her bottom lip between her teeth, her gaze lingering off to one side. 

“I was still kind of worried you would turn out to be a dream,” she murmured. Her shoulders lifted in a shrug and she met his optics, a smile touching her lips. “But here you are.”

Bee whirred softly under her warm gaze. Gone was any indication of fear from her demeanor. He was as alien to her as she was to him and yet her ability to adjust rapidly to their situation after such a brief first encounter was commendable. 

“What happened last night?” he asked, using Earth’s time frame for simplicity.

“It was morning, I woke up,” she replied. “Although, it didn’t really feel as if I spent hours talking with you so maybe it took me a long to reach your… uh… stasis?” Her arms crossed over her chest and she tapped a finger against her lips. “Or I guess time could pass different in here than on my world...”

He shook his head. “Time in stasis is no different than that on the outside and a length of a unit of time on your world would have the same length at my location.” From what Bee knew, time was only truly affected when a section of the universe was in contact with subspace and the only natural phenomena where that contact occurred were black holes and wormholes. “You must have been close to the end of your sleep cycle when we met,” he said, agreeing with her former speculation.

“Well, I think I found you faster tonight.” Her chin lifted up in pride. “As soon as I woke up in here I found your light and ran really fast until that weird tugging feeling happened.”

Bee blinked, not following half of what she said. His light? He hadn’t been aware his program emitted a visible spectrum of energy but, then again, he hadn’t been aware he’d been broadcasting his voice either. He made a mental note to ask Ratchet later about the odd things Alexandria was experiencing. 

At the thought of the medical officer, there came the same curious prickling as before.

_ “Yes, but just wait _ — _ ” _ he tried to reply but was cut off as the sensation intensified. He rumbled, concentrating on the rapid multitude of questions being directed his way. 

Alexandria noticed his focus had shifted and she glanced around for the source of his distraction. Finding none, she looked up at him, brows knit in confusion. 

“ _ Just hold on a bit longer, _ ” Bee pleaded. “ _ Yes I understand but… No, I want to _ —”

“Are you okay?” Alexandria piped up from below. 

He stopped, giving his head a brief shake. “Of course,” he replied, returning his attention to her.

She squinted at him. “You sure?”

“I’m sure.” He chuckled at her serious tone. “Why do you ask?”

“Because you had this sudden blank look on your face.”

Bee rubbed at his helm. “I suppose I did…” he muttered. He noted she didn’t seem fully reassured, however, and seeing how she continued to look up at him with concern he decided to lighten the mood. He whirred and cocked a brow plate, leaning in closer to her. “I didn’t look  _ weird _ though, did I?” he asked, trying his best to sound serious but his voice warbled and face twitched, threatening to give him away.

Her hand came up to her lips in an attempt to suppress the rolling giggle that bubbled forth. “No,” she said, the word muffled against her fingers as her mouth split into a wide grin.

“Oh thank Primus!” he exclaimed as he heaved a massive sigh of dramatized relief, placing his hand over his spark as if in eternal gratitude. His actions caused Alexandria to erupt in a fit of laughter. 

Bee found himself laughing along, the sounds of her amusement contagious, and realized just how wonderful it felt to indulge in conversation with someone outside of the war that permeated every facet of his life. Exchanges with other Autobots, although holding mirth at times, had seemed devoid of true joy for so long that now when he was faced with it in the tiny organic it was like staring into a sun; radiant in its beauty.

Alexandria sat down cross-legged near his foot. “You know, you’re really funny.”

He trilled. “Thank you. I try my best,” he replied, earning him another smile. 

“So… what do you do in here all day? Is this where you work?” she asked, glancing around and studying the console behind them. She grew quiet as her face scrunched up in thought, which was replaced by a look of mild alarm. Her head jerked upward, eyes wide. “Are you sleeping like me or is this like, your home? Are you a computer program?” Her words were rapid with worry. “I just assumed you were like me and had a body outside of here but if not, I’m sorry if I said anything to upset you.”

“First of all”—he gestured to himself—“do I look upset?”

“No,” she replied softly.

“That’s right.” He nodded. “You haven’t done or said anything to offend me in the slightest and if you did I’d let you know, not get angry.”

Alexandria’s breath huffed out in a long exhale as the tension in her shoulders ebbed away. She wasn’t the most eloquent individual when it came to socialization finesse under normal circumstances so conversing with an alien presented a lot more opportunities for the proverbial foot-in-mouth. 

“Second,” he continued, “I  _ am _ in a type of sleep mode, at least that’s the easiest way of putting it without going into a lot of technological jargon.”

“Oh okay.” She brightened at the shared situation between them. “Then is it nighttime on your planet too? How long do you have to sleep for?”

As much as he wanted her to continue freely indulging her curiosity Bee held up a hand, halting further inquiries. “Actually, I have some questions I need to ask you first,” he told her, knowing he was testing the patience of a certain other bot. “I’ll be happy to answer yours afterward though.”

“Oh, sure thing, Bumblebee.” 

“I have to let you know there are oth—” he began but stopped as the void beyond them shimmered and two figures emerged from the darkness.

Alexandria looked over her shoulder, following his line of sight, and her mouth dropped open at the sudden appearance of the unfamiliar Cybertronians who towered over them.

Bee grimaced as saw Alexandria draw her limbs close to her defensively and scoot away from the newcomers. It was interesting to note, however, she had chosen to move closer to him in the process. 

**“I wish you would have waited longer,”** he acknowledged the two in Cybertronian, lowering his eyes as he wasn’t challenging their decision to reveal themselves, just disappointed.  **“I wanted to introduce you beforehand so it wouldn’t be so distressing when you showed up,”** he explained.

Optimus nodded to him in understanding while Ratchet stared down at Alexandria, his piercing gaze slowly taking in every minute detail of her form. Bee could hear the soft hum of multiple scans taking place and knew the both of them were running analyses of the human, searching for any indication of falsity in her statements of who she said she was. Ratchet had especially been skeptical of Bee’s report, suspecting Alexandria could very well be a program of Decepticon origin; inserted into the human files and activated once uploaded to the Ark’s system. It had taken much convincing on Bee’s end to keep Ratchet from quarantining the data.

Not wanting to prolong Alexandria’s discomfort, Bee moved over her so he was visible in her peripheral vision. “Don’t be afraid,” he told her as her eyes flicked back and forth between him and the others. “These are my friends.” 

Alexandria raised her hand slightly and gave a small wave. “Hi,” she squeaked.

In consideration of her size, Optimus knelt down. “Hello, Alexandria,” he replied; his commanding presence and deep voice sending a brief shiver through her. “My name is Optimus Prime. I am the leader of the Autobots.”

“Autobots?”

“One of the primary factions of Cybertron; our faction,” Bee explained.

“And this is our medical officer, Ratchet.” Optimus gestured at the bot to his left.

Ratchet, who had remained standing, snorted upon hearing his earthen designation. He turned to Optimus.  **“I do not detect Decepticon programming within her signature, which I suppose can be taken as reassuring. Keep in mind, however, these are just my preliminary results. To have a more accurate reading I would need to examine a physical form.”** His optic centres narrowed as they refocused on Alexandria.  **“If there is one that is...”**

The string of pulses, resonant tones, and low metallic hums of the Cybertronian language had Alexandria looking to Bee for reference. “What did he say?” she whispered.

Before Bee could translate, however, Ratchet huffed and crossed his arms. “What I said is none of your concern,” he told her. The usual blatant sternness of his voice, although familiar to the other bots, had Alexandria ducking her head as if she’d just been reprimanded for the innocent question. 

A confused frown graced Ratchet’s features as he noticed the dirty look Bee cast his way.  **“What?”**

**“As much as I know you meant no harm, my friend, a certain measure of gentleness is needed here,”** Optimus murmured. “ **She is a youngling.** ”

 **“We haven’t fully determined that yet.”** Ratchet pointed out. 

**“I trust in the quality of your assessments just as I trust in Bumblebee’s judgment,”** Optimus replied. **“As to whether Alexandria holds knowledge of the AllSpark’s location is another matter.”** He shifted to sit back on his heels and a low rumbling hum sounded within his chasis, catching Alexandria’s attention. He chuckled softly in sympathy as she looked absolutely miserable. “There is no need to feel so, little one. You are not in trouble,” he reassured, switching to English.

“I’m not?” Alexandria looked to Ratchet, who shifted awkwardly. “Sure feels a bit like it.”

“That’s just Ratchet.” Bee waved dismissively, ignoring Ratchet’s responding grunt. “We were just trying to determine if you were a threat or not, that’s all.”

“Seriously?” Her face screwed up in disbelief. “You guys are massive! I think you’re taller than my house,” she said, gesturing at Optimus. 

Optimus smiled, shaking his head. “Size is not always a good reflection of power, Alexandria. I have known some creatures much smaller than you who have reshaped entire planets.” 

Her fingers twiddled the hem of her pant leg as she reflected on his words. “That’s… a little scary,” she admitted.

“It can be, hence our caution concerning your sudden appearance in stasis.” Optimus motioned to Bee who in turn initiated a code sequence that had been given to him earlier. “This brings me to the reason why we are here right now,” he said as a wall of florescent green symbols appeared, encircling the platform. “Bumblebee informed us you had found a shard of metal with markings on it.”

“Yeah…” Alexandria had stood and was circling slowly; eyes travelling along the columns of symbols, bright against the dark background. 

“Do any of these match what you saw?” Optimus asked. “I know this may be a daunting task, but any assistance in identifying what was on the shard would be most helpful and much appreciated.”

Alexandria hummed in thought, wringing her hands as the silence grew when she didn’t respond right away with an answer. “It was a long time ago and I only saw it for a few moments.”

It was difficult for Bee not to step in and try to help. Given the amount of visual information that had been presented to Alexandria, without providing her with any time to prepare or recollect, an explanation of what she was seeing would likely have helped focus her concentration. Ratchet and Optimus, however, had disagreed, feeling that her answers would hold more value with a harder test. 

Bee studied the symbols, which were arranged in neat formations creating multiple sections; each containing only one writing system. The neocybex alphabet, currently in universal use on Cybertron, was displayed near Ratchet and was bordered by the older and outdated syllabary of Primal Vernacular and the logography for Chirolinguistics. Ancient runes of the mythical Quintesson race flickered behind Bee and off to his side he saw the distinctive scriptures that were engraved on the Cube; the metallic housing structure infused with the AllSpark. All but one of the remaining sections were filled with languages not originating from Cybertron. Bee sighed as he spotted the series of symbols similar to those depicted on the Cube but unlike them, these ones had been fabricated by Wheeljack and fed to Decepticon intel as the true AllSpark markings and if they were the ones chosen by Alexandria, Ratchet’s concern would be validated. 

Tension escalated as the false symbols attracted Alexandria’s attention and she spent several long moments looking them over. Bee gave a puff of relief when she eventually shook her head in dismissal and continued onto the next section.

“I don’t know,” Alexandria’s posture slumped as so far she hadn’t been much help for Bumblebee or his friends.

“Just how many of Earth’s languages and alphabets  _ are _ you fluent in?” Ratchet spoke up.

“Well, English of course and I have to take Spanish for school but I’m not that good in it. Oh and I know a few French words.” Her voice was hopeful but that dwindled upon seeing the disappointed look that crossed Ratchet’s face.

He cleared his vocal processor and addressed Optimus.  **“The human data indicated Earth has over six thousand spoken languages and forty alphabets in use. It is highly possible she saw one of those and didn’t recognize it as writing native to her planet.”**

**“But how did she access stasis then?”** Bee pointed out, standing to stretch to his full height, which always seemed to help when debating with Ratchet even though he was still well below his eye level.  **“You said yourself human physiology doesn’t have the capacity to do that.”**

**“Then it has a technological basis, likely utilizing their Cybertronian source.”**

Bee snorted.  **“I’ve never heard of anything that would accomplish that.”**

**“There** **_are_ ** **devices that can achieve a similar result. A modified cortical psychic patch perhaps,”** Ratchet said, recalling the procedure Shockwave had developed and which was subsequently banned by the Autobots due to the horrific experiments that had been conducted for its creation.  **“More feasible than the AllSpark creating undocumented capabilities in an organic being.”**

**“Yes, but** —”

**“Wait.”** Optimus held up a hand, gaining the attention of the other two.  **“Look.”**

Bumblebee and Ratchet followed Optimus’ gaze to where Alexandria stood; having moved away from them to stare intently at a section of symbols beside the ones depicted on the Cube. 

“Are any of those familiar to you?” Optimus asked, his cables tensing on realization of which writing system she was looking at.

She turned to give him a quick nod. “Yeah, this one.” She reached up to point above her. “The one with the curved lines.” Her hand moved as she traced its form in the air. Optimus caught Bee and Ratchet exchange glances, the script unrecognizable to either of them, however this wasn’t surprising as it was far older than all of their years combined. Optimus knew of it through lore alone, passed onto him from the teachings of his mentor and the prior leader of the Autobots, Sentinel Prime. 

“You saw this on the shard you found?” He was cautious with his question, not wishing to give away the significance of her selection should she be attempting to manipulate them for an ulterior motive.

“No...”

Ratchet bristled, turning toward Optimus.  **“I don’t think we’re gett** — **”**

“It’s on my arm.”

Three sets of optics stared at her, the owners silent in surprise. 

Alexandria pushed up her pajama sleeve, the scarring of her forearm standing out against the surrounding skin in a lighter tint of green. Her scars had always appeared as an indistinguishable disorder of slashes and curves but now, as she referenced the wall of glowing text before her, her mind began to see structure behind the lines. The pattern they made just proximal to her wrist was identical to the symbol she had identified and she traced her thumb along it just as she had done so many times prior.

Optimus held out his hand. “May I see?” he asked in a gentle voice.

Alexandria went to him, holding up her bare arm for view. As he leaned in close she swallowed thickly, her mouth bone-dry. The size of the Autobot leader was impressive from afar but now with him hovering only a breath away, her heart was sent into another tempo of rapid beats. The sensation of their signatures meeting tickled along her skin, raising delicate fine hairs in response, as his hand hovered just below her outstretched limb. She trembled in the effort to not pull away to rub vigorously at her arm to counter the feeling as it continued up through her shoulder and into her jaw.

“Do you see it?” she asked, ready to point out the mark if needed.

Optimus nodded slowly, the implications of what he was seeing shaking him to his core. He could indeed identify the symbol etched into her flesh along with numerous others, some superficial and exposed and others embedded on a microscopic level creating a maze of runes upon runes. Present were those displayed in brilliant green nearby as well as ones Optimus hadn’t included and several he had never seen before. 

**“What does this mean?”** Ratchet asked, even though the dramatic shift in Optimus’ demeanor told him volumes.

Optimus stood and turned to his companions who stared up at him with trepidation. Every decision he made they supported with an undying trust of his ability to lead them forward into a better future. Their lives, their world, the very future of their species was dependent on him and the choices he made and now he would be asking them once again to throw themselves into the unknown. 

He spoke without hesitation; only a confidence in knowing what they needed to do.

**“We go to Earth.”**


	6. Pathways

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Meta-cycle = ~13 months. Also thank you to everyone for reading and enjoying my story. I appreciate it greatly.

Stasis was abuzz with conversation. Rapid and anxious one moment, reassuring and slow the next, fluctuating in its quality every few moments depending on who was speaking. It was definitely a vibrantly discussed topic of importance and one that Alexandria found herself nodding along with while having no clue as to what was actually being said. 

She stood amid the three Cybertronians as they conversed back and forth above her head in their rumbling language woven full of clipping pulses and modulating pitches. It was rather difficult keeping up with who was speaking as one would end and another would start without allowing a breath of time to lapse between sentences; likely the benefit of being able to process information at speeds far exceeding the capabilities of the human brain. Alexandria thus was resorted to deciphering the subtleties in their speech in order to keep up. Optimus had the deepest voice, making him the easiest to pick out when the responses of each Autobot started to bleed together. Whenever Optimus spoke, it would set off the other two into rather lengthy replies. Based on Bee’s stance and expression, he seemed the most open to what was being discussed while Ratchet was ever the more reserved and cautious. Alexandria quirked her head curiously as she listened to Ratchet’s speech, noticing that certain sounds he made tended to be drawn out compared to similar ones voiced by the other two. She wondered briefly if it was deliberate or unintentional. Perhaps what she was hearing was a Cybertronian version of an accent? She decided it was something she would like to ask the medic about, but based on how little opportunity she was being given to speak, it would have to wait for another time. 

Alexandria sighed as she trailed her fingers over her chin, whether in frustration or as a result of the vibrations she could feel when the Autobots uttered certain low frequency sounds. Every so often, one of the bots would look her way, reminding her that she was the awkward third, or rather forth, wheel of the group and yet it was abundantly clear she had been the catalyst spurring the need for this meeting.

Finally the reserves of her restraint ran dry and she huffed in annoyance. “Can I know what’s going on?” she cried out over the sound of their voices, effectively halting the discussion. 

Optimus and Ratchet redirected their attention; however, Bee didn’t meet her gaze initially, as if ashamed they had so easily excluded her. 

“Alexandria, this—” Ratchet started, but she stomped her foot putting an end to the sentence she didn’t have the patience to hear again.

“No! This _ is _ my concern.” She glared up at him with balled fists, challenging him to say otherwise. “I have alien writing on my arm”—she thrust the limb high above her head toward them—“and you guys are all talking about it like I’m not even here!”

“I… wasn’t going to say that,” Ratchet replied. 

“Oh.” Her arm dropped to her side and she cleared her throat as embarrassment started to flush its way up her neck. “Well, even so. I deserve to know what you guys are talking about,” she mumbled. 

The request was out on the table and at the full mercy of the Autobots as she had no leverage to get the answers she sought; her angry demand being little more than simple noise. 

Ratchet shook his head, taking pity on the little organic. “This situation is delicate,” he tried again, “and its information has a severe cost. I for one feel that excluding you from it would yield the best chance of keeping you safe.”

“Safe?” she echoed. “Safe from what?”

He ignored the question, looking to Optimus instead. “But of course, this is not my decision to make.”

Optimus once again knelt down to be closer to her level. “Alexandria, what I am about to tell you must never be shared with another,” he said, his somber tone and grave expression pulling at the threads of her desire for answers. “Even the knowledge of our existence has me putting my trust in you to keep silent. This is not solely for your own protection, but for the safety of my Autobots as well.”

“I don’t want anything bad to happen to you,” she said, her voice trembling as she looked to each of them, gaze lingering on Bee who hummed softly in response. “I won’t say anything,” she promised. “Though, I don’t think anyone would believe me if I did.”

The light jest tugged at the corners of Optimus’ mouth and he stared down at her with sad eyes. 

“Very well.” He nodded, accepting her promise as truth. 

A quietness settled as Optimus began detailing events of importance from the history of their race; a grand stage set across light years on a planet far from the one she called home. “Before time began, there was the Cube. We know not where it comes from, only that it holds the power to create worlds and fill them with life.” He spoke with reverence and awe in remembrance of the ancient artifact. “That is how our race was born. For a time, we lived in harmony, but like all great power, some wanted it for good, others for evil. And so began the war — a war that ravaged our planet until it was consumed by death, and the Cube was lost to the far reaches of space.”

One giant hand was brought close to her arm. “I believe the shard you found was a piece of the Cube, broken off during its travel across the galaxy. When you were struck by lightning, the magnitude of electricity must have reacted with the AllSpark and the remnants of that reaction sensitized you to the energy signatures we transmit when we are in stasis.”

“AllSpark? What’s that?” she asked, the foreign word sounding odd on her tongue.

“The AllSpark is the very life essence of Cybertron, a power unlike any other. The Cube is its physical manifestation.” Optimus explained. 

“And you think the Cube is on Earth?”

“That, we do not know.” Optimus shook his head; it was only one possibility out of an infinite number of destinations, even in light of such promising new information garnered from the human. “The fragment could have been the result of damage to the Cube at any point along its path from our world.” 

“If it was though, would it be dangerous?” 

“It depends.” Ratchet spoke up, resuming his analytical stare and making Alexandria feel as if she were a specimen under study. “Would an unfathomable source of power on your world cause  _ complications  _ for your species?” The carefully selected words and curiosity within them made Alexandria believe the question wasn’t asked solely in concern of the Cube itself being the issue.

Random media images flitted across Alexandria’s mind, their depictions of humans amidst moments of upheaval and subsequent loss causing a sour downward turn to the corners of her lips; reminders to one of humanity’s uglier sides. Her brow creased as she wasn’t quite sure how to put her answer. Power tended to be the common factor in determining the victor of conflict and could be found in a variety of forms but in the end, however, it didn’t really matter the source as it all led to the same conclusion; the suppression of those in the path to the idolized finale and, if history class was any sort of indicator, humans didn’t tend to respond particularly well to power, no matter its origin. 

It was difficult to look at Ratchet in the eye. She couldn’t deny the bad taste left in her mouth at the thought of speaking aloud the atrocities committed by humans; not when her and her kind were still under first impressions.

“Your expression says a lot,” Ratchet remarked, breaking the silence. “Bumblebee”—he addressed the other bot without redirecting his focus from Alexandria—“in the information you studied, was there anything detailing strife among her people?”

Bee clicked in discomfort, knowing exactly where Ratchet was leading the discussion. “None,” he answered.

“And the overall impression it gave of the humans?”

“A young, peaceful species, in the midst of a technological revolution.”

“Peaceful…” Ratchet repeated. “Is this true, Alexandria?”

The flinch in response to his words was more than obvious. “We aren’t all bad,” she whispered, skirting around the question. She hoped the topic of the conversation would be dropped if she showed reluctance to engage but the others remained quiet, patiently waiting for her to continue. Alexandria looked up to see what she could only guess was judgement and concern gracing the features of the bots. Her cringe brought forth a soft hum from Bumblebee who motioned with his hand in encouragement.

“We aren’t all bad,” she repeated. “But there’s humans who are.”

“You are familiar with the concept of war then?” Ratchet asked.

“Yes. There have been a lot of wars. Some even so big the whole world had to get involved to stop the fighting.”

“And your people have access to weaponry? Projectiles?”

“Um, yes if you mean guns. We have those and…” she paused, clearing her throat after hearing an irritated snort from Ratchet, “and ah… bombs.” Her fingers twiddled the edge of a pajama sleeve, tugging at the digital depiction of cloth as her voice quieted with each word.

It was Optimus who spoke next. “And what is it your people fight over?” 

Alexandria couldn’t help the weak burst of bitter laughter that she let forth. “I don’t think there’s anything we  _ don’t _ fight about. Money, land, and resources seem to be the big ones and I know a lot of wars in the past were over religious beliefs being forced on others. There are even some who kill just because they like it...”

Ratchet huffed as the idea of a retrieval excursion to the insignificant backwater of a planet was no longer looking as simple as it had before. “This… complicates things,’ he muttered, moreso to himself than his companions. He sighed briefly, addressing her again. “Then in answer to your question, Alexandria: yes, the Cube is very dangerous.”

Optimus' gears whirred as he stood tall.

"Autobots, it is time we depart,” he said; the command firm. There was work to be done, urgent work that demanded their attention and they could no longer take the time to  indulge the youngling in conversation. The AllSpark was out there waiting for them to find and claim it.

Alexandria was surprised by the sudden order and frantic worry constricted within her chest. 

Optimus nodded at her. "Farewell, little one. May the stars ever guide you." His words were touching in the face of what Alexandria felt was a hastily bittersweet goodbye.

She didn't know what to say; how  _ was  _ one supposed to respond after meeting such great beings if only to be left soon after.

Optimus' form shimmered and dimmed as the void absorbed it back within its encompassing darkness. Ratchet moved to follow, pausing momentarily to glance back her way.

"I do appreciate your honesty with me," he said, the sternness of his features softening somewhat before he too was gone.

Now only one Autobot remained; the first she had met and the one she hoped would give her some inclination of a positive outcome.

"Will I see you again?" Alexandria knew it was borderline on pleading but she didn’t care. She wasn’t about to give up on their fledgling encounter.

Bee whirred, picking up on the tenseness of her voice. As much as he wanted to promise a return, it would be cruel to give her false hope, especially as he wasn’t quite sure the full extent of her ability to connect with his kind in stasis.

"Perhaps," he said, as truthful of an answer he could provide. It still didn't stop her features from crumpling or stop the tug at his spark. "I will, however, try my very best," he continued, placing a hand over his chassis and capturing her gaze with his solemn one. "Besides, I did promise you I would answer more of your questions, right?"

Alexandria sniffled and nodded, on the verge of tears. So much had been cast her way over the past two nights she could feel her composure cracking. "I like talking to you, Bee, “ she admitted. “And I still have so much to talk to you about...”

"Then, when you sleep, keep watch for my signature and know that whenever you find it, you are always welcomed."

"I will,” she said, his words bringing forth the smile he enjoyed seeing.

"There...is something else I must ask of you before I go,” he said softly, hesitating as if unsure of what he was about to say. “And I know much has already been asked of you, but I feel this is important.”

"Of course, Bee."

"I need you to promise you won't try to contact any of the other voices you hear when you sleep."

Alexandria was surprised by the request. "But aren't they Cybertronians too?" 

Bee grimaced. "Cybertronians yes. However, I don’t believe they're Autobots." He had given much thought to the other "voices" and since the last Autobot in their region of space to have undergone stasis had been Jazz and the voices were an active occurrence, it only left one disturbing option. "When Optimus spoke of others wanting the Cube's power, he was speaking of another of Cybertron's factions. The one we are currently at war with; the Decepticons."

"And you think the other voices belong to these Decepticons?"

"It seems that way."

"And they're dangerous?"

Bee rumbled, shaking his head sadly. "No... not all of them. Some just—" It was hard to explain for after as long as they had been fighting, things weren't as black and white as they once had been—"they just have a different opinion on how things should be. A lot of Decepticons were friends at one time and became misled..." he trailed off, familiar faces of old allies resurfacing and bringing with them painful memories. He grunted, not having the time to dwell on old wounds. "I need you to understand though there  _ are _ Decepticons who are very dangerous and if they ever knew about you, about what you can do, I fear what would result from it."

He knew he couldn't  her stop her from making contact nor would he even know if she did unless she chose to tell him of such. He just hoped their interactions had given her enough of a reason to put value to what he said.

After a brief pause, Alexandria looked to him, her mind set. "You don't need to worry, Bee. I promise I'll stay away from the other voices."

"Thank you," he said softly, bowing his head. "To hold someone's trust, it means a lot to me."

The momentarily silence that followed was comfortable and Bee enjoyed it for as long as he could before time constraints made him whirr with regret. “I need to go. They’ll be waiting for me.”

“I understand,” Alexandria said. She couldn’t bring herself to tell him goodbye; it felt far too final. Instead she remained hopeful.  “I’ll see you later?”

“I certainly hope so,” he replied as his form flickered with the initiation of the stasis termination code.

Alexandria felt herself being pulled away as her surroundings vanished into the void and she was left standing alone at the point where she had started; one less light in the distance.

 

0-0-0-0-0

 

The trio were greeted by Jazz and Wheeljack on entering operations; Optimus having sent an urgent alert immediately on exiting stasis.

Jazz leaned casually against one of the curved railings engaging in small talk with the engineer while they waited, only to immediately straighten at Optimus’ arrival, clasping his hands behind his back; the image of a disciplined soldier. Wheeljack had taken residency near the navigation unit, alert and ready to input coordinations at a moment’s notice. Brief flashes of soft white light pulsed alongside his helm in anticipation as his optics flickered back and forth between the three who joined them in the room. 

“Well, what’s the verdict?” Wheeljack asked, unable to keep silent for long. “I know you found the answers you were looking for, seeing how we’re all together at present and, since none of you are scowling, it would be correct to assume that the news you bring is positive?”

Optimus took his place at the centre of the group, nodding at Wheeljack to let the other mech know his deductions were indeed accurate. “The human, Alexandria, has been in contact with the Cube and as this is the first physical evidence we’ve found since leaving Cybertron, the human homeworld of Earth is now our priority lead.”

“Optimus, if I may.” Ratchet raised a hand, taking a step forward. “I am familiar with the markings of the Cube, just as any other bot here, but I have to admit I didn’t recognize the ones branded into the human’s flesh. I don’t mean to second guess you, but how do you know they came from the Cube?”

“The Cube depicts Cybertron’s history,  _ all _ of its history, in the form of its runes,” Optimus reminded them. “The runes we are familiar with are only a reflection of our most recent past, however, Sentinel Prime theorized that as time flows, new runes are added to the Cube’s surface while older ones are stored in a method we have yet to understand and decipher.”

Ratchet crossed his arms, his brow plates lowering in a slight frown as he pieced together the new information. “And what we just saw are these older runes?”

“Far older, my friend,” Optimus replied. “Alexandria’s markings have been passed down from generation to generation through the lineage of the Primes, dating as far back as the original Seven and perhaps, even beyond.” 

This brought about a few shocked expressions and weary glances between the others. The original Seven, the Dynasty of Primes, had been the first of their kind to achieve true sentience and was said to have occurred thousands of millennia ago; a period of time that was considered long even to a Cybertronian. The thought was a bit circuit boggling.

“Wheeljack,” Optimus acknowledged the white and silver mech, “you will rendezvous with the other Autobots who are currently planetside then set immediate course for the outskirts of the Solar system, at which point further instructions will be relayed to you depending on the situation. The rest of us will proceed on ahead of you via protoform.”

Rapid flashes of light pulsed in response as Wheeljack shook his head. “That is a lot of individual jumps. Our energon reserves are low, maybe too low to support them all if I am to be making sequenced Ark jumps as well. We need to refuel.”

Bee’s antenna lifted and he clicked for their attention. “ _ Ironhide mentioned finding some raw energon veins in his last report. I know it isn’t the most ideal fuel grade but it would do the trick, right?” _

“Yes. Raw energon would be sufficient and, depending on how much, I could harvest an extra reserve and purify it at a later time.” Wheeljack’s digits drummed together as he ran through conversion formulas. “Much more than sufficient for our current needs. I have no further concerns, Prime.”

Optimus nodded. “Good, then roll out!” 

 

0-0-0-0-0

 

A large metal section of the hanger bay folded in on itself, revealing the open expanse of the cosmos beyond. Blue light washed over the relatively empty space that had once held an impressive assortment of shuttles and military units used in deep space travel. Now only a lone planetary lander remained, the rest having been taken by those currently groundside or destroyed over the past number of years in combat against foes. Bumblebee stood near the craft watching as the external environment was exposed. He shifted back and forth on his feet eagerly, bringing forth a chuckle from his Lieutenant, who was operating a series of controls behind him. 

“You’re that excited for protoform, huh?” Jazz remarked with a teasing grin.

Bee warbled a negative answering tone and continued his repetitive swaying motion. “ _ Not in the slightest. It took me a long time to find this plating and I really don’t want to go through the process all over again,” _ he said, referring to the black and gold template of his alt-mode. The ground vehicle it was based on had been a lucky find  during their last disembarkation to a small copper planet dubbed Tallon IV by the avianoid natives. Prior to that, Bee’s alt-mode had been a rather rushed option from a refueling trek to Velocitron, as his native Cybertronian form hadn’t exactly been adapted for the extended off road travelling required for uninhabited planets. Wheeljack had been the one who selected the Velocitronian unit as it fit the parameters of their situation but the overly rounded shape of the tan colored chassis was something Bee hadn’t been too keen on, especially when Sideswipe likened it to a “sandy bubble”. Suffice to say it had been an overly joyous moment when Bee found the sleek stylish answer to his problem.

“I hear you. Let’s hope these humans have some good tech of their own.” Jazz finished preparing the transwarp drive for interspace travel and joined Bee near the edge of the energy field that separated them from the weightlessness of the outside. He cast a side glance at the younger bot who hadn’t stopped fidgeting. “Gotta love the prep for these trips though,” he laughed, knowing exactly the cause of Bee’s newfound energy.

Bee chirped in agreement. “ _ I can never say no to new energon packets. I like feeling as if I can take on a whole squad of Decepticons by myself.”  _ He shivered as there came another surge in his thermoregulation system, increasing the temperature of the fresh energon coursing through his lines by a tenth of a degree. 

“How many cycles were you on with your last one?”

“ _ Fifty-two. _ ”

“Ouch.” Jazz grimaced, eyeing Bee carefully. “I’m surprised your gears weren’t starting to rust. I can barely get myself out of my bunk with sludge at half that age.” 

“ _ You can barely get out of your bunk on a normal day _ ,” Bee retorted with a laugh, cuffing his friend on the shoulder.

Jazz chuckled along with him.

“Well… you ready for this?” Jazz asked, hearing the uncertainty in his own voice. They now all stood on a precipice about to jump into the unknown as they followed delicate threads of information. 

“ _ I’m always ready,” _ Bee replied. “ _ You? _ ” When he didn’t receive a reply right away he gave a concerned whirr, as a quiet Jazz always indicated a worried Jazz. “ _ Everything alright?” _ he asked.

“If...this lead turns out to be the one we’ve been waiting for,” Jazz spoke softly, optics distant and unfocused, “you realize we won’t be a lost species anymore. After all this time, we’ll have a future again.”

An odd silence settled over them, the only sounds the low thrumming of the engine in the belly of the ship below and the soft hum of the energy field nearby. 

Bee shook his head. “ _ We make our own future,”  _ he replied, trying to keep irritation from entering his voice, as the idea of a chunk of metal determining everything they were and would be was bordering on degrading. He sighed, not wanting to belittle his friend, however, and acknowledged Jazz’s sentimental words with his own. “ _ But… it will be nice to finally go home _ .”

“That it will be,” Jazz agreed before opening up his comm to access ship wide frequencies. “ _ Optimus, we’re ready to jump. Awaiting your order.” _

Optimus responded, his ever commanding voice heard by both mechs over the channel. “ _ You can proceed. Ratchet and I are on route and will follow.” _

“ _ Acknowledged _ .” Jazz switched off the comm and clapped a hand against Bee’s backside. “Well, after you, Half-Pint. I’ll see you on the other side.”

Bee warbled his goodbye, not wanting to say it aloud. He knew he wouldn’t be seeing his friend in stasis over the long journey to come as Jazz chose to spend the time as close to an unconscious state as possible. Knowing the potential risks a bot faced during interspace travel and even though he wasn’t the superstitious one, it always seemed to Bee that a formal farewell tempted fate just a tad too much.

The energy field crackled as Bee stepped through it. The magnetic pads in the soles of his peds activated as gravity vanished, keeping him stabilized as the physical motions of his stride threatened to propel him off in a random direction away from the Ark. The muffled sounds of the ship’s thrusters at the aft of the ship were barely picked up by the more sensitive of his auditory receptors. The thudding of his footsteps fell in time to their pulses as he made his way across an open expanse toward a circuit of flashing lights that ran in a perpendicular strip to his course. He stopped just shy of the them and crouched briefly before simultaneously jumping upward while deactivating the magnets that kept him firmly in place against the hull. He allowed the force to take him several yards before engaging his vents to slow his ascent, until he hovered a sufficient distance away from the ship. 

Below him, the lights began to flash in mesmerizing patterns and nearby sections of the Ark began shifting; long thick arms unfurling from their holding compartments and locking into place with heavy clunks. His own body began to contort and shift in response to the activation of his protoform program. Gold and black plates began to lose their sheen as metal parts folded inward over and over again, becoming the dark iron grey coloration that provided protection against harmful elements a bot was exposed to during solitary space travel. Bee’s form increased in density as it shrunk slightly in size, finally forming the irregular oblong shape of his protoform’s alt-mode. 

Electricity began to snap and arc from the metal arms closest to Bee as energon was exposed to high levels of radiation. Visible currents of energy swirled around him as the Ark’s computer recognized his form as the one intended for the jump and soon he was engulfed by rolling surges of the transformed energon; its power vibrating along his body, connecting him to the forces of subspace that flowed between their dimension and the countless others that composed the omniverse. The moment that contact was made, there was a brief flash and Bee was propelled forward at speeds of faster than light.

Jazz watched from below as his friend vanished into deep space. A sharp beep sounded behind him, signaling the jump was a success and had reset; now primed for the next traveller. He gave himself a mental shake, hating the long claustrophobic trips in protoform, and double checked the estimated distance between their location and Earth. It would only take a few meta-cycles to reach, nothing close to some of the extreme timeframes other bots had been known to endure. Still, he couldn’t help but shudder as he prepared to step through the field to follow Bee’s path; the jump to the Solar system, as short as it was, definitely could have been shorter in his opinion. 

“Here’s hoping it’s at least uneventf—”

A loud crescendoing siren interrupted him with its sudden repeated wails. Jazz froze briefly at the ship wide alert, indicating they were under attack, before instinct and training took over and he ran for a nearby terminal, calling out his personal code that would override and reverse any previous commands that had been logged into this section of the ship. The cargo bay began sealing itself off from the outside and the arms of the transport drive sliding back up against the safety of the ship. 

Jazz made it halfway to the terminal when his world was flung to the side as a massive explosion tore open the hull, ripping off one of the bay doors and propelling it across the room to pass within a few feet of his helm. The door crashed into the far wall while Jazz’s chassis connected forcefully with an access ladder, breaking it into useless fragments, and he landed in an ungraceful heap on the floor. Static flickered across his vision, distorting his surroundings, and he blinked several times to stop things from jumping. Emergency lights had been activated and washed everything in a harsh red glare and the siren continued to blare. Managing to collect himself Jazz got back to his feet, crossed the remaining space, and vaulted over the guardrail between him and the terminal, reaching it a fraction of a moment before Wheeljack’s voice sounded over the comm.

“ _ Decepticon ship, starboard. Two attackers; Starscream identified. Shields at eighty-two percent _ .” 

Jazz swore harshly as any plans for heading outside, lancer rifle primed and ready to destroy some Decepticon aft, fizzled into non-existence. Megatron’s second in command and prior leader of the Cybertronian seeker force wasn’t one to take on in head to head aerial battles. Jazz punched in a rapid sequence of commands into the console and a second set of panels shifted down from the ceiling to cover the torn gaping hole left by the blast. 

Faint vibrations in the floor signaled Ark cannons being fired. There came a subtle shift in momentum as the ship changed course, either to pursue or disengage, Jazz wasn’t sure. He activated his comm.

“ _ Jazz reporting. Hangar bay took some damage but all breaches are sealed _ .” Streams of data rolled across the console screen and Jazz’s optics quickly scanned over them in search of any other pertinent issues in their systems. A small discrepancy in pressure sensors near maintenance caught his attention; something small had made contact with the exterior and they were leaking atmosphere. “ _ Possible breach a few decks down but effects are negligible. Please advise.” _

Wheeljack replied, listing off quick clipping updates.  _ “Decepticon ship, Nemesis, has yet to advance and has taken a defensive position. Optimus is on route to engage Starscream. Cannons have diverted subsequent attacks. I’m currently having trouble identifying and getting a reading on the second attacker. Location and status unknown. Investigate all breaches.” _

Jazz took off, heading for the nearest access hatch that would lead him down into the belly of the Ark. He hated being blind during an attack; away from operations and the visual maps of the battlefield. He leapt down the shafts connecting each level, not bothering with the much slower use of the rungs, and landed with a loud clang of metal against metal before ducking into a roll and using the momentum to push himself into a sprint again toward the next hatch. 

The final jump, longer than the others, had Jazz hitting the ground with a grunt, his shocks handling most of the impact but some force travelled up his legs leaving a burning ache in its path. Another curse was uttered, although silent this time, and it was followed by rapid clamping of his afferent sensors to temporarily stop the discomfort and allow him to remain still, crouching low with lancer drawn. 

Maintenance was dark and foreboding, a thin layer of silver dust lining the various tools arranged systematically upon rows of shelving units. The area had been in disuse since Arcee had been sent planetside and Wheeljack moved his lab closer to operations in order to fill in for Cliffjumper’s absence. Jazz scanned the area, the lights on his shoulders flashing on and creating long shadows to dance across the floor and walls. Soft hissing of leaking atmosphere could be heard on the other side of the room and Jazz wove his way over to its source; a hole roughly half his size lined with jagged metal edges where something had torn through from the outside. 

The ship lurched as there came another resonating explosion from above and Jazz grabbed the nearest handhold to keep from pitching forward. 

“Slaggin’ Cons,” he said, grimacing as a bearing in his shoulder was pulled a tad too hard, sending an irritating twinge up through his neck. He rotated the joint, making sure the motions were smooth but froze as there came a string of profanity that made the things he had said earlier meek in comparison. The unknown voice made him drop into defensive stance, shutting off his lights while bringing up his weapon scope to optic level in one fluid motion. With silent footsteps he moved toward the direction it had come, pressing up against the bulkhead as he came to a bend in the room. Just beyond, another rapid series of fragmented, incomplete sentences were uttered along with purposeful tapping as digits struck against a surface. 

Knowing who it was even before line of sight was established, Jazz readjusted the level of his lancer, aiming the muzzle downward to compensate for the much smaller stature of the intruder. Rounding the edge of the wall, Jazz took careful aim as he would only get one good shot. 

Frenzy was often an underestimated adversary in battle yet his agility, speed, and ability to avoid critical injuries due to a decentralized, modular nervous system, made him a very deadly foe. 

The prior Autobot-turned-Decepticon was currently occupied, having patched himself into one of the Ark terminals and Jazz could only guess at the kind of information the bot was attempting to steal from them. Jazz lined up his crosshair with Frenzy’s helm and as he pulled the trigger, be it too slow on his part or just bad luck, the ship pitched again causing the energy bolt to miss its mark. Frenzy screeched as the blast hit the upper part of his chassis and he jerked away from the terminal, disengaging his hacking servos from the interfacing port and turning on Jazz, letting loose a barrage of disc-blades launched from his chest. Jazz twisted quickly out of the way and most of the blades passed a breadth away from their mark; the others embedding themselves into Jazz’s shield that he’d activated in response. Jazz’s return fire seared the walls as Frenzy lept erratically about the room, using his knife-like extremities to grip the walls and ceiling; utilizing the surfaces to his advantage. 

A quick flash of silver cut through the air as Frenzy leapt at Jazz, blades slashing for the soft parts between protective plates. Jazz hissed as one cut connected with its target and a line in his side was severed; glowing blue energon splattering in an arc across the floor. Jazz clamped the area, the injury failing to dull his reflexes, and he followed Frenzy’s projected path as the Con landed and immediately launched himself again. Jazz’s shield connected with a sickening crack as it smashed into Frenzy’s helm, sending the small Con flying across the room to crash into a bank of tools. Frenzy was quick to recuperate and he disappeared behind the debris and clutter. 

“ _ Seal all access points to maintenance,”  _ Jazz called over the comm as it would be easy to lose Frenzy into the many ducts and small connecting points between areas of the ship and Jazz couldn’t allow the Con to resume whatever directive he had been trying to achieve before being interrupted. “ _ Frenzy is on board, I repeat, Frenzy has boarded!” _

A new, even more shrill, alarm sounded followed by a gushing howl as numerous vents were purged; forcing their contents back into maintenance and creating a negative pressure flow. Steam and other vapour bellowed out obscuring Jazz’s surroundings and he braced himself, knowing Frenzy wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to use the poor visibility to his advantage. His optics scanned the thick haze, turning toward each heavy thud that signaled hatchways sliding shut with excessive force.

Jazz didn’t have to wait long. 

Frenzy dropped down from above, landing on Jazz’s back; cutting deep gouges in the Autobot’s plating with the digits of his peds. Jazz reached around attempting to grab hold of the Con but Frenzy ducked to the side, shoving his mini gun under the guards at Jazz’s neck and unleashing several rounds inside the chassis. Jazz yelled in rage and pain as the bullets grazed his spark casing and he threw himself back, slamming himself into the nearest wall, attempting to crush the Con. The pressure wedged Frenzy’s hand in Jazz’s parts and, unable to dodge Jazz’s grasp, Frenzy was pulled off the Autobot; sickening snaps and a screech of pain signalling his weapon and part of his arm being ripped off.

The Con was thrown against a far wall and he slid to the floor just as a bolt from Jazz’s lancer struck true and part of Frenzy’s head disappeared in a shower of metal and fluid. Frenzy twitched, his remaining hand grasping at the gaping area where part of his face used to be. Metal began to twist and shift as he started to reconfigure himself using non essential pieces of his body. Not about to let that happen, Jazz lunged forward, preparing to blast him into oblivion but he stopped short of firing when Frenzy let loose a gurgling chuckle, his remaining blue optic looking up at the Autobot with smug defiance. Hesitating, Jazz had a heaviness settle on his spark, feeling as if he was missing a vital bit of information as he listened to the maniacal laughter. 

He received his answer as Wheeljack came over the comm. 

“ _ Second attacker identified. Soundwave identified.” _

Jazz realized it was the size of the breach that hadn't made any sense. Not when you were trying to sneak someone onboard; someone of Frenzy’s stature. The breach was much too large for the Con he was currently facing, however, it  _ was _ the perfect size for someone else, someone larger…

A low rumbling growl was the only warning to the danger behind him. Jazz twisted around, bringing up his weapon but it was knocked from his hand as something large crashed into him, causing him to fall backward and hit the ground; body pinned by a snarling, leithe form. Ravage’s maw clamped around Jazz’s shoulder, serrated teeth tearing into him. The feline-like mechanimal was the most brutal of Soundwave’s counterparts; preferring to kill his enemies with fang and claw rather than projectile weaponry. Jazz gripped Ravage’s head and tried to push him off but to little effect. There was only the span of a few moments before Frenzy would be back in the fray and Jazz wasn’t too keen on battling both in such close quarters. Seeing how his lancer was out of reach and he needed to maintain his death-hold on the Con, he adjusted his grip to each side of Ravage’s head just behind the eyes and switched on the magnetic bands in his hands, turning them up to full strength. The resulting conflicting forces on cranial circuits had Ravage spasming in pain; his optics turning outward in their sockets and ears flattening against his helm, a muffled yowl vibrating against Jazz’s chassis. Finally the beastial Con couldn’t stand it any longer and released Jazz, shoving himself away and shaking his head as circuit signals misfired, making his body jerk erratically.

The lancer rifle was back in Jazz’s grip a moment after and he unleashed a full clip in Ravage’s direction, striking the Con numerous times on the body and keeping him from retaliating. One bolt was sent Frenzy’s way just as the other bot began to move to join the battle again and this time his back strut was severed; the two halves of his body flung in separate directions. The lower half twitched, curling in on itself and becoming still as its communication with the nervous system centre was lost. The top half flailed about where it landed, the excessive damage causing an extended delay in reconfiguration.

Jazz readied himself for another attack from Ravage who had recuperated his senses, however the Con jerked his head, looking to his companion and pausing as if suddenly realizing the state they were in. Ravage hissed at Jazz, firing a few rounds from the mounted cannon on his backside, but the shots went wild as they were only meant to keep the Autobot at bay. Ravage grasped Frenzy’s working half in his mouth and took off for the breach.

“ _ Optimus! Ravage and Frenzy exiting a breach; port side, section 2F!”  _ Jazz yelled through the comm, hoping his leader was still on the outside and could provide interference. He ran after the two but couldn’t match Ravage’s speed and lost them through the hole in the Ark’s hull. 

“ _ I see them,”  _ Optimus replied, his voice strained, “ _ however, I am unable to pursue. Nemesis cannon fire has me pinned down” _

“ _ Optimus get back inside, we need to fall back,” _ Wheeljack said with urgency. “ _ The Ark won’t be able to endure much more.” _

Jazz’s fist connected with a wall. “ _ Frenzy was connected with one of our terminals. He may have retrieved some of our intel,”  _ he informed them. “ _ We can’t afford to let them get away. _ ”

“ _ We don’t have a choice,”  _ Wheeljack countered. “ _ We’ll all be scrapped if we don’t leave this sector immediately. _ ”

“ _ I’m secured, initiate full retreat.”  _ The order came through from Optimus, ending any further debate on the matter. 

Jazz grimaced; his failure at letting the two Cons escape gnawing at his spark. Unfortunately there wasn’t much else he could do at this point aside from repairing the breach itself and securing the room. A large heavy sheet of titanium was borrowed from a pile of materials and heaved over the gaping hole and welded into place. Rumbling vibrations followed and Jazz felt a mild sense of vertigo as the Ark entered sublight drive; propelling them rapidly away from their attackers.

He clutched his shoulder, the movement and weight of the repair straining injured lines and sensors and he flicked on his comm once again.

“ _ Hey, Doc, you in the med bay _ ?” he asked, moving gingerly toward the exit. “ _ I’ve got some work for you.” _

 

0-0-0-0-0

 

Massive shadows loomed over the battle damaged Cons, who sat nervously on the floor of the Nemesis’ bridge. Frenzy skittered in his spot, the spider-like arrangement of his remaining body clicking against the ground, earning an irritated growl from Ravage, who was positioned nearby. 

A large hand was placed on the top of Ravage’s head, the silent gesture comforting, and Ravage settled with the attention from his symbiotic counterpart. 

“Are you sure of what you found?” Starscream glared down from above, his red optics flashing. “If you are mistaken or I find out you are  _ lying _ , I will tear you apart piece by piece until there is nothing left except for your pathetic excuse for a brain module!”

Frenzy shrunk lower as Starscream hovered menacingly over him, the Commander’s digits twitching with eager anticipation at the thought of dismembering him.

“It was his signature, I’m sure, I’m sure,” Frenzy clicked rapidly. “Megatron’s signature on the alien ship. No mistake. I don’t make mistakes!”

“You’d better not, for your sake.” Starscream turned away from the pair, disgust dripping from his words. “Pathetic, the both of you. Not being able to take down one lone Autobot.”

“It would seem that it proves to be difficult for even the best of us.” The monotone voice of Soundwave answered; the Decepticon communications officer regarding Starscream with veiled contempt from his position beside Ravage. 

Starscream bristled at the subtle insult and rounded on Soundwave. “Is there something on your mind you wish to say?” he growled, advancing on the other Con until he was just a few meters away. 

To his credit, Soundwave didn’t flinch, unlike most other bots when on the receiving end of Starscream’s wrath; the Commander was known for acting on impulse and with great violence.

Soundwave responded with the same level coldness as always. “Of course not, Commander. My purpose is to advance the Decepticon cause via Lord Megatron’s orders, and as such, your orders as his proxy. It is not my place to challenge decisions or… pass judgement.”

It took all of Starscream’s restraint not to rip Soundwave’s spark from his chassis and feel its pulsing life force die in his grasp. The blatant mockery at his inability to destroy Optimus during the battle, when the Autobot leader had been at such a disadvantage, was infuriating but, unfortunately, as Soundwave possessed unique abilities essential for the war and Starscream had yet to possess absolute power over the Decepticon force, the arrogance-bordering-on-insubordination had to be endured… to a point.

Starscream straightened, casting a side glance to the dismembered Con, who still cowered on the floor. “Log your data and I’ll review it later. We must pursue our enemy while their ship is damaged and crew is weakened.” The Decepticons hadn’t missed witnessing the jump of one Autobot member and Frenzy had been quick to indulge the others on the injuries of their irritating Lieutenant. “You were able to track their ship’s trajectory?” he asked Soundwave, who nodded; a celestial map appearing on a nearby screen with coordinates.

Any further orders to make chase were interrupted, however, when a deep rumbling voice spoke up behind Starscream.

“The Autobot data must be investigated immediately.  _ Any _ leads to Lord Megatron are priority.”

The main hindrance to Starscream’s achievement of control over the Decepticon force lay in the hulking black form of Megatron’s staunchest supporter. As long as there was rumor the Decepticon leader was still functioning, Starscream would never sway the ever loyal hound of Megatron to his own personal vendetta. 

He turned, noting how Blackout had moved quietly up behind him and was observing him closely with fierce red eyes. 

“Unless…” Blackout continued, “ _ you _ wish to be the one to explain to Lord Megatron that we knew of his location but chose to do nothing about it.”

A cold ripple of fear travelled through Starscream’s plates. It was obvious to every Decepticon that if Megatron was alive, he was in a situation severe enough to require aid, or they would have received some kind of communication from him by now. What kind of situation remained to be seen, however, and the idea of Megatron finding out he’d been left to rust… well… Starscream couldn’t even begin to imagine the kind of torture that would befall him. 

Starscream had so far been successful in reducing the investigations into the location of their  _ glorious  _ leader, but then again, there had been little to no information regarding his status ever since he’d gone through the wormhole after the AllSpark. Now with this rather sudden and, in Starscream’s opinion, unfortunate insight, his control over his companions had taken a severe hit. 

Blackout waited patiently for a reply and Starscream knew that if he did not acknowledge the chance to find Megatron through action, he would be forced to fight the large mech. Blackout was no simpleton and whereas Starscream could easily overpower other bots who challenged him intellectually, such as Soundwave, Blackout matched Starscream in firepower and physical prowess on and above the battlefield. 

The others wouldn’t be of any help either in supporting Starscream’s cause. Soundwave was just as loyal to Megatron as Blackout was, and no doubt would assist in Starscream’s extermination if Blackout decided to try. Bonecrusher, the tawny hunched giant watching the exchange from his place near the viewport, hated everyone with a fierceness that even extended to himself and only fought for their side simply because he hated the Autobots even more. The remaining two members of the Nemesis crew, Barricade and Brawl, would simply follow whoever was strongest and the most likely to achieve victory over the Autobot faction. As having Megatron back would give them the best chance at succeeding in their war, Starscream could easily see them backing Blackout over him. 

“But of course we will investigate,” Starscream answered, hating how sniveling his voice seemed to have become. “Do you take me as a fool?”

“No,” Blackout replied, his expression thoughtful as if imagining how the conversation would have ended should Starscream have chosen the alternate option. “Your decisions are always made in the interest of Decepticon rule.  _ Megatron’s _ rule.”

“Yes, yes,” Starscream hissed, not breaking optic contact; noticing how the edges of Blackout’s mouth plates lifted slightly. “But,” Starscream pressed on, raising a pointed digit, “as the Autobots only sent one of their own, we shall do the same. The rest of us will follow the Ark and put it to destruction.”

Blackout began to interject but Starscream stopped him.

“Or would  _ you _ rather explain to Megatron why we had Optimus Prime within our grasp and chose to let him go?”

Now it was Blackout’s turn to appear uneasy at the thought of  _ disappointing _ his esteemed leader and he found himself nodding along with Starscream’s plan. 

“I await your orders, Commander,” Blackout stepped back, allowing Starscream to take rein over the situation once again.

Starscream pointed at Barricade. “You will go to the alien planet where Megatron’s signature originated from. Find him and report back. Destroy anything that gets in your way and kill the Autobot scum who is traveling there.”

“It’ll be my pleasure,” Barricade rumbled, a wide grin splitting his face.

“For Cybertron!” Starscream roared, thrusting a fist high in the air. “For the Decepticons!”

Blackout nodded, following suit. “For the Decepticons and all hail Megatron!” he boomed, the others echoing the acclamation.

“All hail Megatron!”

 

0-0-0-0-0

 

Bumblebee knew something had gone wrong. 

He stood at the edge of his stasis field searching for the signatures of the other Autobots who should have appeared soon after his own jump. Panic began to raise its ugly head as he continued to remain alone in the void. 

Bee ran through his immediate options. Stopping his jump prematurely would provide the best way at keeping him close to his starting point, however, it would also only leave him with a new set of problems; stuck in an uncharted part of deep space with no method of rapid interstellar travel and possibly facing dangerous and unfamiliar obstacles. Staying on course meant arriving in a situation that wasn’t completely unknown to him; the human data and his brief interaction with Alexandria having somewhat prepared him on what to expect from Earth and its native species. Continuing his jump, however, would set him back considerably in time and distance if the mission parameters had changed since he left the Ark.

It was frustrating to say the least, especially when his strong sense of duty conflicted with his need to ensure his friends—his family—were alright.

Grimacing, Bee forced himself to remain the disciplined soldier and he syphoned all possible power he could; rerouting it into strengthening and amplifying his communication signal as someone was bound to contact him eventually, knowing he was out here.

_ Unless the Ark was destroyed... _

He shook his head, running a hand over his helm in frustration at the thought. He needed to stay positive or least he drove himself mad with worry over the remainder of the trip and what good would result from that? 

The digital environment of his stasis program flickered from the reduction in power; his own form phasing in and out of existence. Reluctantly Bee shut off the visual component to become a disembodied presence in the dark. 

With nothing to look at, Bee could only wait; alone with his thoughts, which starting to fringe on the negative once again.

Just as he was beginning to picture all of the horrible ways a bot could meet his end in space, a familiar signal contacted him. 

It was Optimus.

Bee acknowledged the other Autobot’s presence by sending security bypass codes that would allow Optimus to establish connection with his stasis programming.

Optimus’ signal was faint; the result of the increasing distance between them. Bee managed to restrain himself from barraging his leader with questions. 

Optimus spoke rapidly, his words edged with urgency. “ _ Bumblebee, the Ark was attacked by a Deception ship and we sustained heavy damage, resulting in a change in course to avoid destruction. We are currently preparing to jump to Ironhide’s location for fuel and repairs _ .” Optimus’ voice crackled with static as his signature weakened. Bee remained silent, not wanting to interrupt least of all they lose the connection suddenly. Thankfully Optimus’ next words contained the information Bee needed the most. “ _ No casualties resulted from the attack. Jazz did receive several injuries during the fight but Ratchet says he will make a full recovery _ .”

The relief from knowing everyone was still functioning was immense and some of the heaviness lifted from Bee’s spark.

“ _ We have reason to believe the Decepticons know of Earth. You must continue with the mission. Find the AllSpark and secure it by any means necessary. We cannot let it fall into Decepticon hands or else the human world...Cybertron...all life would be at stake.” _

_ “I understand,”  _ Bee said. “ _ You can count on me.” _

Optimus hummed in approval; his trust in the young Scout always well placed.

“ _ Maintain your cover unless absolutely necessary. The fewer humans who are aware of our presence, the fewer who become involved in our war.” _

“ _ And Alexandria, Sir?”  _ Bee couldn’t help but ask the question in regard to their human acquaintance.

“ _ You may speak to her as you have been if she continues to contact you in stasis as it may offer greater insight into her species, however, do not let her know you travel to her world. Even though her actions have given us reason to believe she personally doesn’t mean us harm, we cannot determine her loyalties at this time. Once you are on Earth, only seek her out if you have no other choice.” _

There came another fluctuation in Optimus’ signal and Bee knew the connection would be soon lost.

“ _ We will  _ (kzzt) _ there soon… Stay saf _ — _ ” _

Optimus’ signature cut out leaving Bee alone once again and Bee uttered a soft whirr; the ache left behind by the final words spoken to him, raw and emotional.

“You too,” he whispered to the dark.

 

0-0-0-0-0

 

The days passed by, following disappointing nights spent within stasis, yet the search for a familiar voice remained ever hopeful. The other voices continued to speak their language to unknown audiences and, as much temptation as it was to investigate their associated light, the promise that had been made remained unbroken.

Then, on the twelfth night, there came a faint point of light off in the distance; displaced far down and off to the side from its original location. It was accompanied by a sound that evoked an unparallelled excitement and its listener ran toward it immediately upon its discovery.

The neverending blackness of the surroundings changed to the green of the digital world after stepping through the light into its source. Upon entering, a giant form moved within, crossing over the platform once it noticed the new presence; eyes lighting up even brighter at the sudden appearance.

Alexandria smiled as she looked up at the one she had been seeking; her voice betraying her happiness at finding him again.

“Hello, Bee.”


	7. Cosmic Castaway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Orbital cycle = ~ 1 month

A faint breeze caused tips of long purple grass to rustle softly, the sheen from their leaves glistening as the edges caught the moonlight. Two natural satellites hung in the distance, illuminating the surroundings in a bath of white light; uncharacteristically bright for night time, but that was what had appealed to Bumblebee when he first visited the small garden-like world in search for the Cube. 

He lay amidst a field staring upward at the sky; a small hint of a smile on his face as he listened to the feminine voice chatter endlessly beside him. 

Bee’s head tilted slightly as he looked at his companion who was sprawled out on her own back next to him. Alexandria gestured with her hands as she described the day she’d had at school and again he found himself fascinated at how complex the lives of humans were at such a young age. Bee remembered when he’d been a youngling there hadn’t been the challenge or complexity of social acceptance among peers that she seemed to face but, then again, he  _ had _ grown up surrounded by fully mature bots during the midst of a planetary war; time was spent training and fighting, not worrying about fitting in. 

“What’s the name of that moon over there again?”

His musings on hold, Bee followed the direction Alexandria was pointing; toward the larger of the satellites. 

“Selvos, only it really isn’t a moon but the twin planet to this one,” Bee said. 

“And the planet we’re on is Chalkhos, right?”

“Yep.”

Alexandria grunted softly as she sat up and looked around at the grass, which extended out into dunes of silvery purple extending as far as the eye could see; a sharp contrast to the pure white surface of Selvos. “They don’t really look alike for being twins if the rest of the planet looks like this.” 

Chuckling softly, Bee agreed with her. “True, but maybe at one time they did. When I came here, Selvos already had lost its atmosphere. Now it’s a barren world buried underneath a giant sheet of ice.” 

“Oh… Will that happen to this one too?”

He shrugged. “I’m not sure. It’s pretty likely since the orbit of binary planetary systems tends to be unstable.” It was his turn to point, motioning at the moon that revolved around both planets. “It’s also likely that Ao there will collide into one of them. If that happens to Chalkhos it’ll turn this place into a ball of molten rock.”

“That’s sad.” She sighed softly, continuing to take in the scenery of the holo. “It’s so beautiful here.”

“Very.” 

Alexandria reached out to hover her fingers just above the grass, a few longer strands cutting through the depiction of her hand; the purple a striking contrast to the green of stasis’ digital coding.

“How far away is this world from Cybertron?” she asked, looking between him and the sky. 

The seemingly endless fountain of questions about his kind and their world continued to amuse Bee and he likened the deep curiosity to her age and the naivety of her species; Alexandria having once explained how humanity had yet to make first contact and, to his surprise, how some of Earth’s population still believed they didn’t share the universe beyond their own planet. 

He thought briefly before replying. “Thirteen and a half light-years, give or take.”

“And how far is Earth from Cybertron?”

Sitting up, Bee grinned at the youngling. “Much further.”

The teasing answer had her rolling her eyes. It wasn’t the first time Bee avoided direct questions about his world.

“Worried I’ll tell someone where your planet is?” she said; bright, innocent eyes batting up at him. 

He chirped with amusement. “You can never be too careful.”

“I’m sure you’ll have a lot to worry about from us. We’ve made it  _ all _ the way to our moon,” she said with a waggle of her eyebrows. 

“Well, it’s always good to be prepared for the future. The… far, far future that is.”

Her gentle laughter echoed in the still of the night; the sound always pleasing to the Autobot. 

Bumblebee had grown accustomed to sharing his stasis with the good-natured organic over the past three orbital cycles and looked forward to her nightly visits. At first, he had been a bit worried about how he was going to entertain Alexandria, however, as he found out rapidly, she was one for conversation especially once she realized he was good at listening. Both had been exploratory in their topics, each trying to learn about the other’s world and species. Alexandria was generous with providing information freely and with great detail, while Bee tended to hold back in certain areas or divert the subject whenever it infringed on the war. It wasn’t purely out of a necessity to protect classified information but rather he just didn’t feel like talking about it; viewing his time with Alexandria as a reprieve from his soldierly duties. It also didn’t sit well with him to discuss the violence and atrocities he’d encountered with a youngling.

In addition to providing a partner for conversation, Alexandria had breathed new life into certain stasis activities Bee considered mundane; their novelty having worn off long ago. When she learned one could “draw” in stasis, often used by Ratchet and Wheeljack for writing out formulas longhand, Bee had given her access to the program and soon the platform on which they stood had been covered in bright green etchings. That led to Alexandria showing him several written games; some with less appeal than others, especially the one where he ended up living with Starscream in a mansion.

The holos were probably the most well received as they allowed Alexandria a chance to see distant worlds, although Bee quickly learned it was easy to overwhelm her, especially when the holo contained other alien species. It had actually been a rather distressing moment for himself as well when he had shown her a holo of the bustling biomechanical metropolis of the Poleepkwa. Alexandria’s eyes had gone wide when she suddenly found herself surrounded by the large insectoid beings and her heart rate had spiked to alarming levels, causing him to shut off the holo with a hasty apology. From then on he’d stuck to purely scenic images or ones with small and docile non-sentient creatures. 

As if knowing his thoughts, Alexandria quirked her head, a thoughtful expression playing across her face.

“Tell me more about other aliens that are out there,” she asked, lying down on her side and cushioning her head in the crook of her arm; looking up at him with anticipation. 

“There’s a lot of them,” he replied.

“Which ones are your favorites then?” Alexandria tucked a few wayward strands of hair behind an ear and gave him a smug look. “Besides my species of course.”

“Of course,” he echoed with a chuckle. “Well… there was this desert planet Ratchet and I visited, which was inhabited by living rocks.”

“The rocks were alive?” She raised a brow. “Like, they were aliens who looked like rocks?”

He shook his head “Nope, they were rocks. Silicon based rocks,” he said, recalling Ratchet’s excessively detailed investigation of the creatures. “Ten feet tall and weighing close to three tons. They were slow moving; emitting vibrations that allowed them to shift over the ground.”

“Did they have to eat and drink?”

“We never actually saw them doing that but Ratchet thinks they were scavengers that absorbed nutrients from decaying matter.”

Alexandria thought for a moment, trying to picture the creatures in her head. “Do they have a name?”

“Species Si-217,” he replied.

Her face scrunched up. “Well, that’s… different.”

“Ratchet came up with it. We weren’t able to figure out a way to communicate with them so we weren’t able to ask what they called themselves.” Bee pointed southward in the sky. “The ‘217’ is the sector their star system lies in and the ‘Si’ refers to the silicon composition of their bodies.”

“And what about them made them one of your favorites?”

“Well, when the creatures were awake, they would glow a vibrant spectrum of white and yellow. One night we came upon a migration of them. Ratchet and I watched a mass of moving, glowing stone, probably well over a million beings in number, make their way down a dried river bed…” he trailed off, remembering the look on Ratchet’s face as they sat on an overhang above the unique lifeforms. “It was like watching a river of flowing, liquid gold.”

Alexandria’s mouth dropped open in awe. “That does sound amazing. No wonder you liked them.”

Bee shook his head slightly. “Actually, I think it wasn’t really the creatures that I liked so much, but rather the effect they had on Ratchet. He found them fascinating; enough so that he stopped his research to watch the migration with me. We spent the entire night just… sitting there, enjoying the view.” He hummed in amusement. “And it’s a  _ rare  _ thing for Ratchet to take off time from his work.”

“He’s a workaholic, huh?”

Bee gave her a questioning look. “Workaholic?”

“Sorry, Earth term.” Alexandria grinned, twirling a long lock of her hair in her fingers. “It means he works a lot.”

He hummed. “That’s almost an understatement then.” 

“Ratchet sounds a bit like my mom. She always has to work long hours at her job and she’s usually busy on the weekends with housework and stuff.” There was a hint of wistfulness in Alexandria’s voice and Bee watched as she sat up to draw her legs close, wrapping her arms around them and resting her chin against their support. “At least I get to see her after school for a few hours during the week.”

Bee whirred. “You’ve mentioned this before. If you’re bothered by the separation from your parental unit, why don’t you tell her?”

Alexandria scoffed and rubbed at her arm. “I’m not bothered by it.”

It wasn’t the most convincing statement and Bee peered down at her in silence; enough so that she began to squirm under the knowing gaze.

“What?” she asked, hunching her shoulders.

“You’re not very good at lying.”

Alexandria stared at the ground as if it were the most interesting thing in the universe; her fingers attempting to scratch at its surface. Bee waited patiently and finally she snorted, her reply mumbled, “Even if I was bothered by it, I could never say anything.”

He went to ask why, however, Alexandria continued, changing the direction of the conversation back to her prior question. “So there are robot aliens, insect aliens, and now rock aliens. Are there any aliens out there that are human-like?”

As disappointing it was to not obtain an answer, Bee decided not to press the issue further, least of all he upset the youngling. Instead he nodded. “Of course. As for which of them would be my fav — er second favorite — I’m not too sure.” 

The majority of humanoid-structured sentient races residing near Cybertronian-controlled worlds all had some measure of mechanical biomatter within them and Bee felt Alexandria was wanting to hear about a species as close to her own as possible. It wasn’t until one ventured far from Cybertron did they find purely organic creatures and even then, once an organic race reached a certain level of technological prowess, they tended to start replacing their biological tissues with synthetic components. “I honestly haven’t met many species like your own,” he admitted with a shrug. “Even though I’ve traveled quite a bit, I’ve only seen a fraction of the galaxy and the aliens I’ve come across tend to be like the ones I’ve already told you about.”

“Oh, that’s weird.”

“How so?”

“We have a lot of movies — er holos — about what we think aliens look like and usually they look human. Well… most of them anyway. It’s just weird to think we’re unique that’s all.” 

“Is uniqueness not an admirable trait among humans?”

“Of course it is...” She was quick to respond but the hasty reply was less than convincing as the statement trailed off to leave her glancing off into the distance. Bee waited, recognizing Alexandria’s expression as one she tended to wear when mulling over an unsure statement; lips pursed slightly and brows lowered as her thumb ran across the AllSpark runes near her wrist. 

“Maybe?” she finally said, peering up at him as if seeking assistance for the correct answer. “Is it good for Cybertronians?”

A hum of approval echoed in their peaceful sanctuary as Bee responded. “Very much so. The differences that separate bots make a single unit more efficient in one field of expertise over another. For example, I’m a scout and the class requires me to be good at getting into and out of high-risk areas quietly and without being noticed. Being a smaller sized mech puts me at an advantage.”

Alexandria remained quiet and Bee worried he hadn’t fully answered her question.

“Does that help?” he asked, peering down at her with concern. 

She nodded but the smile she gave him didn’t quite light up her face and Bee knew there was more she wasn’t sharing with him. However, just as she allowed him to have his own reservations regarding certain topics, he would provide her the same courtesy. 

Not wishing to maintain the somber feel the conversation had acquired, Bee trilled lightly. “I still haven’t told you about the rarest of my favorite alien species,” he reminded her.

“Oh?” she perked up with renewed interest.

“Now, I’ve never actually seen these aliens myself and sightings are few and far between.”

Alexandria scooted closer to Bee as he spoke.

His helm tipped as he looked upward at the sky, motioning to the band of stars that were just visible along the edge of Selvos’ white glow. “These creatures, the Aehlorhra, are serpentine organisms of pure energy and can only be found in the darkest and coldest areas of deep space.” With a flick of his wrist he brought up a data file of known xenology and extracted the two-dimensional image of the creature; superimposing it over the current holo for Alexandria’s viewing. 

The still picture of the Aehlorhra hung suspended at the edge of the clearing and Alexandria got up to inspect it at a closer angle. 

“It reminds me of a giant eel,” she said, tracing her fingers along the edge of its dorsal fin. She moved up to its head and tossed him a questioning glance. “It doesn’t have a mouth or eyes.”

“Aehlorhra don’t need digestive systems as they absorb radiation directly. As for how they navigate surroundings, some believe they use a type of echolocation system but we’re not quite sure how it works since sound waves don’t travel very well in the near perfect vacuum of interstellar space,” he explained, faltering slightly as he heard Kup’s voice in his words; the old Autobot having sworn he’d seen an Aehlorhra once, much to the skepticism of his fellow team members. Bee, however, had been enraptured by the tale and Kup enjoyed the attention he had gotten from the youngling. 

“Do you know anyone who has seen them?” Alexandria asked; again seeming to pick up on his thoughts.

He cleared his vents and focused back on the human. “My uh... friend told me about them. His name was Kup.”

Catching the past tense, Alexandria stilled. “Was?” she asked hesitantly, returning to his side.

“He died in an airstrike led by Megatron,” Bee said simply, not knowing how to put it otherwise. One moment the Kalis outpost had been there and the next it was a smoking crater in the ground; a Decepticon nucleon bomb having vaporized the structure, along with every Autobot within as well as several hundred neutral Cybertronians who had resided in the surrounding area.

“Megatron… the one who hurt you?”

Bee nodded slowly, having briefly told her about the incident at Tyger Pax that had left him mute.

“I’m sorry about your friend,” she said, reaching out toward his lower leg as if to lay her hand on it. She paused, holding it just beside him as the signatures reacted sending a light pins-and-needles sensation across his plates. Her hand hovered there for a brief moment then returned to her side.

“It’s alright,” Bee responded quietly, appreciative of the gesture that was meant to comfort in spite of being unable to provide true tactile stimuli. “It happened a long time ago.”

Another breeze whispered through the clearing sending the grass into a swaying dance. Bee watched the movements of the plants while Alexandria watched him. 

“I can see why you consider them special; they remind you of your friend,” she said, noting the soft hum he made at her words. 

“Yes, they do,” Bee replied before running a sequence of code that faded out the current holo, only to replace it with one depicting a star field. Thousands of pinpoints of light glittered around them with the Aehlorhra at their center. It was now that Bee began to get a bit creative with the programming, manipulating the still image of the creature with matrices and modular points, creating a three-dimensional skeleton on which he rendered in solid shapes and textures. 

“Prior to seeing them, Kup’s navigational unit malfunctioned during interspace travel and it sent him off course into uncharted territory.” Bee spoke as he worked and the Aehlorhra shimmered brightly as its body began to shift with wavelike motions. “This is how Kup described them; how they looked and moved within the void.” 

Scales rippled in mesmerizing patterns with the slow shifting of the long slender form of the creature; billowy fan-like fins whispering along its length. A relatively featureless head, with its gentle appearance, dipped and lifted; leading the trailing body to curl and flow as it swam in place in front of them. 

“The Aehlorhra are said to watch over lost travelers; helping to guide them back to where they came from and staving off sickness from isolation.” Bee finished his modifications and regarded the final result with a small measure of pride. “I believe they helped Kup find his way back to us and for that, I’ve always appreciated the stories about them.”

“They’re like guardian angels,” Alexandria said, captivated by the creature.

Bee’s antennae lifted. “What are those?” 

“My mom says they’re kind spirits who guide and protect people with noble souls. With a guardian angel, you can never be truly alone.”

Bee whirred in thought. “They sound like you.”

“Hm?” Alexandria blinked up at him with mild surprise. “They do?” she asked.

“Yes. You’ve shown me kindness, even just after meeting me and you visit me here in stasis, keeping me company,” he explained.

Bee expected Alexandria to approve of the comparison, perhaps smile or laugh in response. Rather she stood there for several moments, eyes searching his face and her next comment made him start; unprepared for the sudden raw realization it brought forth.

“You’re lonely,” she murmured; the words not meaning to pity or express sympathy but rather just a statement of understanding.

Bee wasn’t quite sure how the youngling had come to that conclusion and he sat there quietly, unable to respond right away. Was it an insight drawn from their many conversations together or had he done something that implied as such? Whatever it had been, he mulled over what she said and, to his disappointment, he found himself agreeing with her. 

Even when surrounded by his fellow Autobots on the Ark, with the close familial bonds they shared, there had been something missing for a long time; resulting in a certain measure of loneliness. Bee, trying to pinpoint the cause, could feel the answer teasing him as it lay just on the fringe of his thoughts. He ran through memories of his time on the Ark in search of the AllSpark, of the time spent in battle with the Decepticons leading to the exodus off of Cybertron, to even his time as a guardian of the Cube at the Temple of Simfur. 

When the answer came to him, it felt as if he was struck right in the spark.

Over the recent years of the war, he had continued to lose allies, which, in all honesty, wasn’t something he was new to experiencing. However, while in the past the pain from these vacated spots would have been somewhat offset by the addition of new faces to the Autobot ranks, now there were no more replacements. No new companions coming into his life.

That was until Alexandria.

Bee stared down at the youngling, who had moved back to her prior spot on the ground close to him and was returning his gaze with warmth and admiration.

“I was lonely,” he finally said, a smile crossing his face. “But not anymore.”

The green tinge of her cheeks deepened in their color and her smile was as sweet and sincere as her words. “I’m glad to hear that.”

He trilled and lay against the ground, Alexandria following suit. The scenery changed back to the fields of Chalkhos and the pair resumed gazing up into the beauty of the night sky; conversation, coming forth with the ease of comfort in one's company, passing between him and the little organic whose sudden appearance into his life couldn’t have come at a better time.

Alexandria, his friend.

His angel.


	8. Chase the Sun

“Thus, the square of the hypotenuse, which is the side opposite the right angle, is equal to the sum of the squares of the other two sides. This is shown as an equation relating the lengths of the sides ‘a’, ‘b’, and ‘c’.”

There came the squeaking of a marker as Mrs. Dunn, Alexandria’s math teacher, wrote out the Pythagorean Theorem on the overhead projector in thick, red, curly script.

Alexandria blinked heavily, the haze in her vision making it difficult to read the bright color. She rubbed her eyes trying to rid herself of some of the blurriness. Already tired, even before the start of math class, the dullness of the lesson and the dim light of the room, required for the projector, didn't help the matter. 

The droning of a cicada drifted in through the classroom’s large open windows; signaling the rising heat of the June afternoon. It was an unpleasant reminder to those within the school that the freedoms of summer vacation were still a few weeks away. 

Several students in the room were sprawled in their seats with vapid expressions while others stared out the windows in longing. A group of girls in the back whispered among themselves and Alexandria could hear the crinkling of paper turning. Glancing back, she spotted a magazine cradled lovingly between them and she felt some fleeting jealousy; wishing she too had an interesting distraction. 

As Alexandria continued to watch the girls in her fatigued state, their intimate conversation began to mix with that of the mathematical jargon being spoken up front; creating an odd mishmash of sentences responding to one another yet neither making a lick of sense when taken in context. Given the muddled thoughts of her overly tired mind, it created a rather humorous auditory hallucination and she couldn’t help but giggle at the absurdity of it. Unfortunately, the sound caught the attention of one of the girls who gave Alexandria a questionable look. 

Flushing brightly, Alexandria quickly faced forward and tried to ignore the heightened chatter that came from behind her.  

A warning shushing drowned out the escalating noise as Mrs. Dunn shot the room a sharp glare of irritation. The girls with the magazine quickly hushed their conversation and Alexandria picked up her pencil to busy herself with the algebraic symbols shown on the overhead. With one last critical inspection, their teacher continued the lesson; much to the relief of all who had caught her attention.

The cicada's melody came again, emphasizing the warm stillness of the classroom and more than a few students could be heard sighing or stifling a groan. Seeking a comfortable position, Alexandria shifted to one side and cushioned her head against her hand, using the desktop for support. She continued to jot down notes but, being a dull activity, it wasn't long until her fatigue became an unbearable force. Soon Alexandria's straight handwriting began to dip off the lines of the paper as her eyes closed for longer and longer increments. The pencil fell away from her fingers and rolled to teeter on the edge of her desk; the last sentence on her page nothing more than a wobbly line fading off at the end. Her head bobbed dangerously and she was unable to continue fighting off her exhaustion anymore.

With sleep setting in, her positioning in the chair became lax and the added weight against her hand caused her chin to slip. Her upper body slammed against the desk, creating a very loud and violent awakening. Alexandria gasped, jerking upright to look around in disorientation.

The classroom burst into a fit of laughter at the unexpected disruption and there were a few obnoxious cheers and fingers pointed in her direction. 

“Settle down, settle down!” Mrs. Dunn called out, striking her marker against the metal base of the projector. Alexandria slid lower in her chair, embarrassment burning up her neck. 

“Miss Taylor,” Mrs. Dunn snapped, peering down at Alexandria with a piercing glare and mouth in a thin slash of a line, “this is the third time this week I’ve caught you falling asleep in my class.”

There wasn’t an ounce of compassion in her words and Alexandria looked up at her meekly.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to,” she replied, her voice hoarse.

"Being unprepared for school, which  _ includes  _ going to bed at an improper hour, not only wastes my time but that of your fellow students."

Alexandria hung her head and Mrs. Dunn received a reply from one of the girls in the back. 

“It’s because she’s always  _ sick. _ ”

The approval-seeking voice was delicately laced with mockery and it prompted feminine giggles from the speaker’s associates. 

The fact Alexandria had missed more than one class for medical appointments was not lost on her peers and it provided them with more than enough evidence to make the assumption there was something wrong with her health; although there was a misconception it was due to a physical ailment, of which, Alexandria never bothered to correct as revealing the mental health aspect would be equivalent to social suicide. 

Mrs. Dunn huffed. “Thank you, Lauren, but your comment is unnecessary,” she said, regarding the blonde socialite who sat a few desks away from Alexandria.

Math was one of two classes Alexandria shared with the other girl and this wasn’t the first time she’d taken the brunt of Lauren’s distaste for those outside her inner circle. There were other students who were also subject to the rather cruel part of Lauren’s personality, however, Alexandria had the additional disadvantage of being enrolled in the school mid-way through the curriculum, making it difficult to try to fit in, in general, due to an already established hierarchy of social cliques.

“I’m not sick,” Alexandria whispered, returning the teacher’s attention her way.

“Alexandria, please gather your things and report to the principal’s office for the remainder of the class,” Mrs. Dunn instructed, motioning toward the door. “And use the time to reflect on how you can improve your scholarly habits.”

The classroom was deathly quiet and Alexandria could feel all eyes on her. She willed herself to pack up her personal items as quickly as she could with trembling hands and she was able to make her way out of the room without further embarrassment. The prickling of tears was forced back through sheer determination and it wasn’t until she was in the safety of the empty hall did they escape to trail down her cheeks. The lesson continued on behind her, becoming muffled as the door shut. 

An angry swipe of her arm across her face got rid of the offending droplets as crying wouldn’t do her any favors. With her backpack straps clenched in her hands and footsteps falling heavily on the floor, she made her way toward the front of the school, stopping just outside a set of frosted glass doors with thick block lettering reading ‘Main Office’. 

Alexandria pushed the door handle and entered, pausing part way when the eyes of the secretary cast a curious glance in her direction. 

“I uh… I was told to come here by Mrs. Dunn,” Alexandria explained in a quiet voice. 

The secretary beckoned her over and turned to the desktop computer, hands hovering over the keys. 

“What is your name, sweetie?”

“Alexandria Taylor,” she replied as she observed her surroundings. 

Two older students sat nearby watching the exchange briefly with feigned interest before redirecting their attention elsewhere. A plaque on the desk read ‘Ms. Williams’, identifying the round faced staff member in front of Alexandria. A set of much-too-large glasses sat low on her petite nose and a mess of frizzy brown curls was piled high on her head. The appearance was accompanied by a gentle voice; a stark contrast to Mrs. Dunn’s frigid demeanor. Alexandria felt some of her tension ebb away.

“Taylor… Taylor… ah, here we are.” Ms. Williams muttered as she found Alexandria’s file in the computer system. She peered over the rim of her glasses after pulling up a blank template on the screen. “And why did Mrs. Dunn send you?”

Alexandria shifted in her spot. “I fell asleep in class...again.” She didn’t bother withholding the fact there had been other occurrences. Mrs. Dunn would likely read the report that was being typed up.

“I see.” Ms. Williams gave Alexandria a once over. “Are you feeling ill? You don’t look well.”

Forcing back a sigh, Alexandria shook her head. “I’m fine,” she said, trying to reassure the second person that day who made a comment about her health. “I’m just tired.”

Ms. Williams clicked her tongue and gave Alexandria a sympathetic look. “It must be your lucky day then, sweetie. Mr. Lang is quite busy at the moment,” she said, referring to the principal. “And, seeing how this is your first time here, I don’t believe this matter needs to be addressed with him.”

“Oh?” Alexandria perked up at the thought of not receiving a lecture from the head of the school.

“You can sit here instead until the bell rings and then continue to your next class.” She gestured toward a few empty chairs near the other students. “Just beware, if this happens again, I  _ will  _ forward the concern to Mr. Lang. Understand?”

“Yes, thank you,” Alexandria replied gratefully, her voice cracking with relief. She cleared her throat. “And I understand. It won’t happen again,” she promised.

A nod from the secretary indicated they were done. Alexandria took a seat near the entrance; a few spots away from the others. She placed her backpack on her lap and wrapped her arms around it, giving it a quick reassuring squeeze.

A clock on the far wall clicked noisily as the second hand moved around its face; accompanying the tapping of Ms. Miller's fingers across her keyboard. The sounds were rhythmic and Alexandria could feel herself being lulled once more into a daze. With a snort, she fought back against the sleep that felt as if it had worked its way deep into her bones. 

A long stretch of her limbs and back resulted in the satisfying alleviation of a few stiff muscles but the accompanying deep breath she took tickled within her chest and the irritation spurred a sudden spasm of coughs. 

Ms. Williams glanced up from her desk, one brow raised; her previous comment about Alexandria being unwell passing silently between them.

Alexandria shook her head as she coughed into the thin fabric of her shirt sleeve and, thankfully, the annoying hacking bout soon subsided. Face reddened and eyes watering, she cursed the involuntary reflex; the dry coughing episodes that had developed over the past month seeming to come on at the worst moments. A disgruntled huff escaped her as every time one area of her life was getting marginally better, another would start to crumble. It was as if she were forever trying to climb out of a pool of mud; as she found stable ground with one foot, the other would sink back in and restart the struggle all over again. 

It didn’t seem quite fair, at least in Alexandria’s opinion, and she allowed herself a moment to wallow in the brief satisfaction self-pity brought with it before giving herself a quick mental reprimand. To believe that her life was terrible was a shallow thought indeed; especially when considering there were those out in the world who were suffering true torments. 

Wishing to change her outlook in a more positive direction meant her thoughts turned to seeing Bumblebee later that night and a hint of a smile appeared on her face. The stasis meetings with the mech could always be depended on to change even the worst of days into a pleasant ending and today certainly felt as if it needed a boost. 

 

0-0-0-0-0

 

Steam floated lazily above the rose colored tea as Mary cradled the delicate porcelain cup between her hands; enjoying the welcoming warmth against her skin. 

She sat at the small kitchen table, having finally had a moment to relax after a grueling day at work. Now was the rare moment of the day when she had peace and quiet before her daughter returned home from school and she took full advantage of the opportunity to indulge in the comforting drink. 

Beside her on the table sat a stack of legal sized documents that would soon occupy her attention along with the preparation of dinner. 

With a reluctant groan, Mary rifled through the top few pages wondering where to start. The hours she put in at work never seemed to be enough time for the extra projects she subjected herself to in order to achieve a plumper paycheck. It was, however, a necessary sacrifice to ensure a comfortable life for her and her daughter.

Once Mary had moved on to her first refill of tea, she decided it was time to buckle down and focus on her work. She removed her hair clip and strawberry blonde curls fell to frame her face. She sighed happily at the release of tension from her scalp. Comfort was always a welcoming bonus when faced with irritating tasks.

Just as her pen was poised above the first page there came the sound of the front door opening, signaling Alexandria’s return home. Mary went to call out a greeting but was interrupted as the front door slammed closed, a backpack thudded against the floor, and the screen door at the back of the house whacked sharply against its frame.

A crease graced Mary’s brow. “Those were quite the angry slams...” she murmured to herself. 

Mary went to peer out the far window and she saw Alexandria sitting near the large lilac bush that decorated the end of their property. Blades of grass were being pulled from the soft carpet of the lawn and the thin leaves filtered down from Alexandria’s fingers. Mary watched as the motions were repeated and took notice of the frown on Alexandria’s face. It was obvious something was bothering the girl.

Returning to the kitchen, Mary opened up the freezer and pulled out a frozen container, the situation calling for some motherly comforting.

The backyard was quiet as Mary exited the house and, even though the sun’s rays were starting to weaken from its lower position in the Sacramento skyline, the air still retained its humidity. Not wanting the treat she held to lose its form, Mary strode across the lawn at a slightly hurried pace.   

“Hey, kiddo,” Mary said softly as she came up beside Alexandria. When the only response she received was a slight nod, she took a seat close by and offered one of the bowls she held.

Alexandria looked at the treat and some of the anger faded from her expression.

“Thanks, mom.” Alexandria’s voice was soft as she took the bowl gingerly; picking up the spoon to give the ice cream a stir before taking a small mouthful.  

_ Leave it to mint chocolate chip to be an icebreaker _ , Mary thought, glad her idea worked. 

As of late, Alexandria had been rather tight lipped regarding her comings and goings and Mary attributed it to that rough point in every child’s life where they were starting on the awkward path of teenage-hood. She remembered the mood swings her older sister, Judith, had gone through as well as Mary’s own crying fits, which usually always involved a boy. Mary couldn’t help but wonder if this reclusiveness would be her daughter’s personal bane throughout puberty and she hummed in sympathy.

“Penny for your thoughts?” she finally asked, hoping Alexandria was in a sharing mood. 

“I got into trouble today at school,” Alexandria mumbled, eyes downcast.

_ Oh… _

It was a little strange Mary hadn’t received a telephone call from the office but maybe there was more to it.

“What do you mean?” she pressed gently.

“Mrs. Dunn sent me to see the principal. I fell asleep in her class,” Alexandria explained slowly as if waiting to spur an angry reaction from her. When Mary remained silent, her daughter continued. “But the secretary was nice and I didn’t get detention or anything. Mrs. Dunn was really upset though and the other kids laughed at me. They think I’m a freak…”

“Oh honey, they do  _ not  _ think you’re a freak.” She tried to provide some reassurance but her daughter wasn’t accepting of it.

“They do!” Alexandria’s voice rose in volume and the frown returned. “It’s because I always have to go see Dr. Benson and miss class.” She stabbed at the ice cream in her bowl that was slowly melting into a green soup dotted with black flakes. 

Mary grimaced. The inability to protect one’s child against things beyond a parent’s control was something that frustrated her to no end. “Children can be cruel about things they do not understand,” she said with a shake of her head. “But… on the bright side, since the change in your medications, you haven’t had to see Dr. Benson for a while. That means things may settle down, right?”

“It’s not just that,” Alexandria sighed, running her fingers along the lip of the bowl. “School’s getting really hard…”

“Your classes?”

“Yeah. Everyone but me seems to understand things easily.”

Mary tsked. “I think you’re being too hard on yourself, sweetie. I highly doubt you’re the  _ only _ student struggling with the content.”

“I guess. But it is taking me a long time to finish problems and stuff.”

“That’s true,” Mary said slowly, “But you did  _ very  _ well on your Charlemagne speech. You said Mr. Andrews was happy you included a lot of facts he didn’t cover in class. That tells me when you put your mind to something, you do excellent work.”

“But then I got a really bad mark on my report for  _ Catcher in the Rye _ ,” Alexandria countered, referring to the classic novel every student at her school was forced to read at one point or another.

Mary recalled the struggle her daughter had in finishing the book; the almost nightly battle of trying to keep Alexandria seated on the couch and engaged in reading more than a paragraph at a time. Mary had promoted the book so much in an attempt to spark Alexandria’s interest in it, she’d felt as if she should have gotten compensation from the editor, even though in truth, she had found it equally as dull when she read it as a student for the first and only time. 

“If I remember correctly, you thought that book was the most boring thing you’ve ever read before, right?”

“Well, yes but — ” Alexandria tried to continue but Mary raised a hand.

“My love, you need to  _ stop  _ putting yourself down. You have a lot on your plate and, considering everything you’ve been through, you’re doing just  _ fine _ .” Mary brushed a wayward strand of loose hair from her daughter’s brow, tucking it gently behind Alexandria’s ear. A light caress across her cheek followed as Mary drew her hand back. “However, if you feel your schoolwork is becoming difficult, we can get you a tutor for your classes. How does that sound?”

“A tutor?” Alexandria’s brows drew together at the suggestion and she looked up at her mother. “Won’t that be expensive?”

Mary’s voice was sharp in response. “Alexandria Lee Taylor, what have I told you before about money?” She used her daughter’s full name to emphasize the seriousness of the conversation. 

“That… I need to focus on doing well in school and not worry about anything involving money,” Alexandria replied, repeating a past conversation they’d had regarding the issue.

“Exactly. If you need school supplies, you’ll have them. If you need to go on a field trip, you’ll be there. If you need a tutor, it’ll be arranged. And don’t give me that worried look,” Mary warned as Alexandria appeared as if she were about to give a counter-argument. “It is my job as your mother to provide for you and I will do everything I can to do so. It is your job to focus on your education. That way you’ll open up doors so you can be whatever you want to be in life and to see you succeed and be happy is all I’ve ever wanted.”

Alexandria’s bottom lip began to tremble as her eyes grew misty and Mary pulled her into a hug, placing a kiss against the crown of her head. 

“Aw my sweet girl,” Mary murmured against the light blonde tresses.

“I’ll make you proud, mom,” Alexandria said, her voice muffled as she snuggled into the embrace. 

“You always do.” 

They remained that way for several moments before Mary nudged Alexandria’s jaw with a bent finger. “Hey, chin-up, kiddo. I think we’ve talked about enough depressing things today, don’t you?”

Alexandria nodded, sitting back with a short huff of a laugh. “Definitely.”

“Tell me something good that’s happened, something to lighten the mood. Any new interests? What about your classmates? I know it can be hard getting to know others in a new school but have you met anyone nice?”

“Well… I do have this one friend…” Alexandria started.

Mary leaned forward with interest. “A friend?” she exclaimed, her heart swelling at the thought. “See, I told you there wasn’t a need to worry. You’re such a kind girl it was only a matter of time before people realized they’d be lucky to have you as a friend.”

Alexandria shrugged. “I’m not sure about that.”

“Oh pish-posh, of course they would be.” Mary waved off Alexandria’s doubt. “So, tell me about this friend of yours.”

“He’s really nice and we talk about lots of stuff...” 

The vague response wasn’t enough to sate Mary’s curiosity and she prompted Alexandria to continue. “Does this mysterious boy have a name?” she asked with a laugh.

It may have been Mary’s imagination but she swore she saw a flicker of panic on the girl’s face. 

“Of course he has a name.” Alexandria scoffed, looking downward to twiddle the hem of her pant leg between her fingers. “It’s uh… his name is Bee.”

Mary tilted her head. “Like the letter?” It wouldn’t be too surprising if it was, considering kids those days seemed to call each other weird things.

Her daughter nodded and gave a small shrug. “He’s not from around here.”

“Oh, that makes sense then I guess. I take it he’s a transfer student?”

“Sure — er — yes. A transfer student.” 

Alexandria’s responses continued to be flustered and Mary smiled knowingly. “Oh, I see what’s happening,” she hinted, making her daughter raise a brow in question.

“What?”

“You  _ like _ this boy.”

“What? Mom, n-no!” Alexandria sputtered as her face went beet-red. “It’s not like that at all! Bee’s just a friend.”

“Fine, fine,” Mary said with a smile, holding up her hands in submission. “I’m sorry I said anything.”

“It’s okay.”

“So, what sort of things do you and Bee talk about?”

“He tells me about his family and the places he’s visited. There’s some  _ really  _ weird stuff out there,” Alexandria said with a thoughtful expression. “It makes everything in California seem so normal and boring.”

“I’ll bet.” Mary smiled as her daughter began opening up about the wonderful new person in her life.

Alexandria continued, “I tend to complain to him about stuff that’s bothering me, although, he doesn’t seem to mind, which is really nice. We also talk about movies and music. The songs he likes are a bit weird though because the sounds cause me to feel vibrations in my chest.”

Mary hummed in thought. “I think that has something to do with the level of bass in the song.”

“Well, whatever it is, it’s pretty weird. Cool, but weird.”

“So far this Bee of yours has traveled a lot and listens to some cool, weird music. He sounds like a typical young man. Now, what does he look like?”

Alexandria blinked wide eyed up at her. “Um… he’s tall.”

“Tall. That’s it?” Mary grinned at one of the vaguest descriptions of an individual she’d ever heard. 

“Tall and he’s really strong. Um… he has light green eyes and short… hair?” Alexandria cleared her throat. “I don’t know. Bee just looks like Bee.”

“Well, I guess I’ll be able to see for myself if he ever joins us for dinner.”

“Dinner?”

“I would love to meet him so the invitation is open for whenever you two decide you want to hang out here. I’ll make sure to make something nice too; not one of my leftover casseroles,” Mary said with a wink. 

“Bee...is pretty shy...” Alexandria hesitated, wringing her hands.

Mary couldn’t help but laugh at the worried expression. “Are you afraid your mother is going to embarrass you?” she asked before pulling the girl into another hug and giving her hair a quick ruffle.

Alexandria squeaked and tried to pull away. “Mom!” she cried; her hands flying to her head to straighten out the messy strands. 

Chuckling Mary grabbed the bowls and got up. “Don’t worry, I’ll be on my best behavior. You can tell Bee I’m not a monster of a mom and that I’m pretty cool with the peeps.”

The attempt at urban slang had Alexandria groaning and covering her face with her hands. “I can’t believe you just said that…”

“I love you too, kiddo. Dinner will be in an hour.”

Alexandria watched her mother go back into the house from between her fingers before dropping her hands into her lap. She let out a long drawn-out sigh of relief. It was pretty amazing her description of Bumblebee’s appearance was enough to satisfy her mother. Hell, Alexandria would have called herself out on her own bullshit if she’d heard the same thing. There had been enough pauses and fumbles on her end to scream fabrication, yet, for some bizarre reason, everything worked out in the end. Apparently sticking as close to the truth as possible when stating a lie helped rather nicely. She would have to keep that in mind for the future for, as Bee pointed out, she wasn’t the greatest at fudging the truth.

Her face scrunched up as she tried picturing Bee at the kitchen table eating supper with them. It was a highly amusing image as she was pretty sure he’d fill the whole room, leaving her and her mother squished up against a wall. She couldn’t help but giggle and knew it was something to be shared with him later that night. 

She frowned suddenly, recalling her conversation with Optimus. He had warned her not to tell anyone about the Autobots. Would Bee get upset with her for talking about him to her mother? It wasn’t as if she revealed anything about his true nature and species. Alexandria pushed the worry aside. No, Bee wouldn’t object and she was pretty sure the offer of being invited for dinner would be amusing to him as well.

Fictitious scenarios aside, if Bee  _ did  _ visit Earth one day, she  _ would _ be able to introduce him to her mother and she smiled as the thought created a warm feeling in her chest.

Alexandria sat in peaceful silence, watching golden rays of late afternoon play across the delicate beauty of the lilac blooms; full of hopeful anticipation for the future.

 


	9. Everdream

Hobbits.

That was the name the clerk had used for the small, curly-haired men depicted on the poster at the store. It was a race of fictional creatures, one of unfamiliarity, and so Alexandria had been skeptical about renting the film. She flipped the VHS tape over and inspected the description once again on the back cover, taking care not to trip on the sidewalk as she made her way back home. Despite her hesitation the clerk persisted in promoting the movie and now here she was; film in hand with a fairly certain hunch that the clerk had a  _ massive  _ crush on a blonde elf archer.

The tape joined its partner in the plastic shopping bag Alexandria carried and she swung it in a carefree arc beside her. While she didn’t have many routines she kept on a regular basis, Friday nights were different. Her mother had come up with the idea to do a weekly movie night as a way to have more mother-daughter quality time together. Thus the evenings were spent curled up on the living room sofa, catching up on films they’d missed in theatre and overindulging on junk food. Tonight’s treat of choice was M&Ms, a favorite of her mother’s.

The sun was just beginning to disappear beyond the horizon as Alexandria turned onto the street one over from her house. The residual rays of light tinged everything in hues of warm yellows and oranges. It was a gorgeous July evening and she drank in the scenery. The populace had slowed their activities in the quiet lull between the hectic pace of the workday and the exciting adventures of night time. Street lamps flickered on in preparation of the oncoming darkness and strands of lights along restaurant doors and awnings blinked awake to attract late night consumers. Soon the street she walked along would be full of a crowd different from the one that occupied the space during the day. Small children with their parents, school-aged youth, and elderly shoppers would trickle away indoors only to be replaced by groups of rambunctious young adults, smitten couples out on the town, and gatherings of longtime friends in celebration. The air would be full of laughter and booming music from the clubs scattered among the restaurants and shops.

The nightlife was alluring to Alexandria, with its bright, loud content. Unfortunately, it would be a while until she could participate in such outings as her curfew was still set fairly early in the evening. The longer summer hours did extend it a bit, but not so much as to experience the beginnings of the after-hours activities, at least, not without the company of her mother and even then, they only went out for supper or a sweet treat at the few late night cafes.

Alexandria huffed in dismay. It would have made an exciting story to tell Bumblebee.

With the end of the school year, Alexandria spent the majority of her summer days outside in search of exciting events, while her evenings were filled with movies and books; all of which would be relayed to the Cybertronian when she slept. Her eyes flickered down to the plastic bag as she mulled once again over her choice. She was fairly certain Bee would enjoy  _ Lord of the Rings _ , seeing how his favorite genre was action and this movie, as per the store clerk, was supposed to have a fair amount of scenes of that quality.

It had been rather interesting to learn which movie types Bee enjoyed and Alexandria had made sure to provide him with a good variety as a baseline. So far there wasn't any one particular genre he didn't like, although Alexandria did tend to avoid romance; especially after the fiasco the first time she'd described a romantic comedy to him. It started off well enough but soon took an embarrassing turn when Bee asked her to explain what a "prostitute" was. With a burning face, she managed to fumble through the rest of the film and his questions but suffice to say, she wasn't quite ready to explain the finer details of human intimacy to him; especially when she wasn’t all that knowledgeable on the subject anyway.

The front door creaked as she entered her house, kicking off her shoes onto the rubber floor mat and removing the movies from the bag.

“I’m back!” she announced, looking around for signs of her mother. “I found the movie you wanted about that really smart math guy! We should probably watch it first because the one I chose is really long.”

She spotted the vacuum cleaner sitting quietly at the top of the stairs, moved from its prior place in the hall closet. It was likely her mother tidied up the place while Alexandria went to rent the videos.

“Mom?” she called up the stairs, pausing and listening for an answer. When she received none, she peeked in the living room. The television was on, its volume turned low, and a big bowl of M&Ms sat on the coffee table in preparation for the movie night. The room, however, was vacant.

“Mom, where are you?” Alexandria wandered down the hall, trailing her fingers along the dated striped wallpaper that was yellowing along its edges. The movies tapped against her thigh as she came to the kitchen, finally spotting her mother sitting at the table.

Mary’s back was toward the entrance and she remained in her chair with her head down as Alexandria got close; the warm greeting Alexandria usually received upon her return oddly absent.

“Hey, mom, did you not hear me?” Alexandria asked, her brow furrowing in confusion before an understanding smile replaced the worried lines. Her mother had recently been focused on a large project for work, spending hours at a time buried in files she’d brought home from the office. Alexandria was more than familiar with how the strain from concentrating hard on a task could leave a person in a bit of a daze.

She gave her mother a sympathetic look; tonight’s movie night now even more necessary than before.

“I said ‘I’m home’,” Alexandria repeated, placing the videos on the counter and moving around the side of the table to face her mother. “We have some really good stuff to watch tonig—”

Her voice trailed off as more of the scene was revealed.

Mary was staring at several objects sitting on the table in a neat row near her clasped hands. Alexandria felt her breath hitch in her throat at the sight of the small baggies with their multicolored contents; removed from the safety of their hiding place under her bed.

“I can explain…” Alexandria began in a wavering voice only to be interrupted by a curt response.

“I’m sure you can,” her mother said, finally acknowledging Alexandria’s presence. Mary’s voice was low and tense and it sent Alexandria’s gut twisting into a nauseating knot.

“You told me you were taking your pills. You promised me you were taking them on schedule. You looked me in the eye—” Her mother’s tone began to rise and Alexandria closed the remaining distance between them with haste.

“I stopped taking them because I couldn’t hear the voices very well on the pills, especially the ones Dr. Benson started,” Alexandria said rapidly, interrupting her mother. She could feel her hands shaking and she clasped them tightly against her belly. “And I needed to hear the voices so I could figure out what they were saying. I thought that by knowing what they were saying and who was speaking, I could figure out how to stop the voices for good. And it worked. I figured it out, mom. I know who the voices belong to.”

“What—”

Alexandria cut her off again; the information she had been asked to keep silent bubbling forth from her lips freely.

“The reason I couldn’t understand the voices was that they were speaking a different language. Just like what I told Dr. Benson. Only the language isn’t from our world.“

“I don’t… I’m not following what you’re saying,” her mother whispered, her expression one Alexandria couldn’t quite decipher.

“ _ Aliens _ , mom. The voices belong to  _ aliens _ ,” Alexandria said in a nervous breath, pausing afterward for a response.

When none came she hastily pulled over a chair and sat near her mother, reaching out to grasp Mary’s hand and wincing when the gesture wasn’t returned. “T-they’re called Cybertronians from the planet Cybertron. They’re giant robots who are autonomatous—”

“Autonomous…” Mary murmured in correction.

“Yes! Autonomous. I can never remember that word.” She giggled a high pitched tone, feeling her heart racing in her chest at her mother’s continued blank stare. “They’re all really nice. Well… I’ve only really met three of them so far and one was a bit—er—less happy than the others. But they really are very nice. And big! Optimus is so big I could probably fit into his hand.”

“Optimus?”

“Yeah. He’s the leader of the Autobots and he—”

“The what?” Mary blurted out, a frown marring her features.

“The Autobots. They’re one of the factions of Cybertron fighting against another faction called the Decepticons. Optimus Prime—that’s his full name—leads the Autobots and Megatron leads the Decepticons,” Alexandria explained in one long, rapid breath; feeling liberated at finally being able to tell someone her secret. The past months of pretending each day was the same old, normal day over and over again had been exceedingly difficult.

“They also explained what the scars on my arm are,” Alexandria pressed on, turning her palm over on the table and stroking the soft skin of her forearm with her thumb. “The lines are actually Cybertronian symbols. The piece of metal I found right before I was hit by lightning had them as well. The electricity transferred them to my body. Or something like that…” She shook her head, having understood the gist of what Optimus told her but not the fine details.

“Anyway, what I’m trying to say is that I wanted to find out who the voices belonged to because then I could figure out how to stop them. I had to stop taking my pills because they were making it hard to hear the voices. But now, after meeting the Autobots, the voices don’t need to stop. There’s nothing wrong with me and that’s the most amazing part! All of the doctors were wrong when they said I was sick and I—”

“Enough!” Mary slammed the flat of her hand against the table and Alexandria flinched as if struck.

Silence filled the kitchen and the tension was so thick it could be cut with a knife. Alexandria trembled in her chair, subdued by her shock at her mother’s reaction.

“Just… enough.” The words were clipped and harsh, matching the mix of emotions on Mary’s face. Anger, worry, exasperation, disappointment… None of which were of the supportive nature that Alexandria had envisioned when she began telling her mother about the Autobots.

Mary’s hands clenched into fists and she grimaced, muttering low under her breath. “How could I have not known you were off your medications? How did I miss this? All this time… There must be months worth of pills you hid…”

“M-mom, it’s okay—” Alexandria reached out to stroke her mother’s arm but Mary jumped to her feet.

“No! It is not ‘okay’! It is far from being ‘okay’, Alexandria!” she snapped, looming over Alexandria, who hunched lower in her chair. “This is  _ exactly  _ what Dr. Benson warned us about. These hallucinations… these delusions… they are not something to be excited about or to take pride in!”

“They’re not hallucinations…” Alexandria whimpered.

“ _ Alien _ robots, Alexandria.  _ Alien  _ robots you’ve befriended and talk to in your  _ dreams _ . Tell me this doesn’t sound like completely deranged thinking to you when I say it because it  _ sure  _ does to me.”

"But they're real, I swear! I know I can't prove it to you right now, mom, but if you give me a chance, I'm sure I can figure out a way. I'll let Bee know that I told you about them and maybe he'll have an idea on how—"

"Bee? Your friend from school?" Mary's posture stiffened.

Alexandria snapped her mouth shut, realizing her mistake.

Mary huffed, nostrils flaring. "He's one of these robots of yours?"

"I never said he went to my school. You just assumed he did and I went along with it,” Alexandria murmured. The attempts at defending herself spiraled between pathetic and weak. Flustered, Alexandria's tone echoed her irritation. " _ Everything _ else I've told you about Bee is true. He's kind and funny and listens to everything I have to say. He's my friend, my best friend in the whole world!"

"You  _ can't  _ believe that, Alexandria! You can't be friends with something that isn't real!"

"Mom, please just trust me," Alexandria cried. "I'm not lying or making things up. They exist. I'm not crazy!"

Mary threw her hands up. "I'm done with this. I'm done arguing with you." She jabbed a finger toward the kitchen entrance. "Go to your room. I don't want to see or hear from you until supper."

Any further counters on Alexandria’s part were effectively silenced. She remained still in her chair, unaccustomed to such a harsh and blatant dismissal. There was a bitter taste in her mouth as she glanced back and forth between the baggies of medications and her mom; who had turned to the sink and now stood quietly, bracing her hands against the silvery lip of stainless steel. 

Alexandria stood, the chair scraping lightly across the linoleum. Her mother didn’t look at her as she left. The medications remained where they had been placed on the table and the movies sat in a small stack on the counter, forgotten. 

Once she was in the privacy of her bedroom, Alexandria’s hurt and anger at herself and the entire situation spilled over. A neatly folded pile of clean clothing sat on her bed and she grabbed and forcefully tossed it across the room, creating a haphazard fan of different textured cloth strewn about the off-white carpet. The bed creaked with the weight of her body lying down on the now free surface and Alexandria grabbed a spare pillow, hugging it tightly against her chest. 

All the while she didn’t make a sound, just as her mother had ordered, even though the idea of shrieking curses promised a nice release. She didn’t need any further trouble, especially when considering she wasn’t sure the extent of the punishment that was in store for her. Being sent to her bedroom as if she were a small child was certainly demeaning in itself and she could bet there would be a visit to Dr. Benson soon. 

She grimaced at the thought of another session in his leather-clad office. He would sit there in front of her with his pen that clicked and scratched and drove her into receding within herself, away from the hurtful words she knew were being written. Words that were long and medical in nature. Words that carried stigmas. Words that turned into prescriptions that came with even more appointments. It was a cyclical nightmare and one she had just managed to nab a taste of freedom from. 

Alexandria huffed and breathed deeply, soothed by the comforting scent of fabric softener that still clung to the bed linens. Perhaps she was overreacting; worrying over a problem much smaller than it appeared to be. Her mother had never, ever, remained mad at her for any prolonged period of time and it was unlikely she would start now. It was possible Alexandria had simply provided too much information too fast and her mother was having difficulty processing it all. Hence her distressing reaction.

Feeling somewhat eased by the thought, Alexandria allowed herself to drift off into a light sleep; dreamless and devoid of the voices.

Minutes passed by, becoming one hour and then two.

The sun had fully set when Alexandria woke. A darkened room greeted her sleep laden eyes and she fumbled for the switch of her bedside lamp. Its warmth chased the shadows into the far corners of her room and appeared to be the only light source on the upper floor of their house; the hallway beyond the bedroom door was mostly dark, except for a faint glow coming up the stairway. 

Alexandria stretched and rearranged her ponytail, which had lost several large strands of hair as she slept. The articles of clothing she had thrown earlier remained where they had fallen and she couldn’t help but feel guilty about her anger-driven action. Her mother had spent time washing, drying, and folding each piece to leave them in a tidy stack for Alexandria to put away and in one motion on her part, the effort was ruined. 

She went about her room, collecting and folding the clothes along the way; certainly not doing as good as a job as her mother, but it seemed to repair some of the damage.

Just as she was finishing putting away a pair of jeans, her mother’s voice floated up from below.

“Alexandria, dinner!”

The dresser drawer clunked shut and she took the stairs with a light step, youthful optimism filling her head with its promise that everything was going to be alright. This was her mother after all. The one who gave her unconditional love and who stood by her through the worst of times. Alexandria had nothing to fear, nothing permanent, and she was confident that with time and carefully thought-out explanations, her mother would come to view the Autobots in the same, awe-inspiring light as she did.

At the end of the stairs Alexandria gave pause. 

The living room sat off to her left and she looked around the illuminated unoccupied space, feeling as if something was amiss. Her reflection stared back at her from the black screen of the television, which sat center stage among several lumpy but comfortable old sofas. Framed photos decorated the horizontal surfaces of end tables and wall shelving, revealing smiling faces of Alexandria, her mother, and extended family members. 

Alexandria frowned, not quite sure what she was looking for as every object appeared to be in its designated place and yet something had been altered in the time she’d spent in her room. 

It wasn’t until her gaze rested on the coffee table did she realize the bowl of M&Ms was gone.

Such a small change shouldn’t have give risen to the amount of unease Alexandria felt, but she found herself chewing on the bottom of her lip in worry.

She went into the kitchen to find supper already dished out and her mother waiting patiently. The medications were gone as well as the movies Alexandria had left on the counter. She took her seat and looked over the plate of spaghetti and meatballs with its side of Caesar salad.

“Looks good, mom. Thank you,” she said, spearing a meatball with her fork and giving her mother a smile. 

Mary merely nodded and hummed in response; her expression flat and unreadable. 

Dejected, Alexandria began to eat but soon found she didn’t have much of an appetite; the meal, one she usually enjoyed, suddenly becoming bland and unappealing. 

Dinner was quiet except for the periodic clinking of utensils against the ceramic dishes. Alexandria racked her brain for conversation starters but each time she came up with something the words died on her lips as her mother gave no indication of being in the mood for chatter. 

Mary picked through the noodles on her plate and Alexandria noted she barely had more than a few mouthfuls; unusual behavior for someone who typically hated to waste good food. 

Alexandria finished her own meal, despite the unappetizing situation, and nodded toward the fridge. “Did you want some dessert?” she asked. Maybe something sweet would cheer her mother up and there was a small bit of apple pie left over from yesterday. 

“No, thank you.” Mary’s fork dropped to the plate and she dabbed at the corners of her mouth with a napkin. 

“Oh, okay.” Alexandria drummed her fingers lightly against her chair. “I can clean up the dishes,” she offered as her mother stood up.

Mary shook her head. “That won’t be necessary.”

“Well… what should I do then?”

The reply was soft and distant. “Whatever you want.”

Unsure of what to do with the answer, Alexandria sat quietly as Mary put away the uneaten portion of supper. When her mother began filling the sink with warm soapy water, it was apparent Alexandria was left to her own devices for the rest of the evening. 

Mumbling a hasty goodnight, Alexandria retreated back upstairs. She stopped on the second-to-last step and sat down, watching her mother through the banister. The cool iron spokes pressed against her forehead, which was creased with worry. The situation seemed to have gone from bad to worse and she was at a loss. At least when her mother had been angry with her, there had been something to respond to. To react to. 

Alexandria sighed and hugged her knees to her chest. Even with her earlier nap, her eyes felt heavy with fatigue as the toll of the evening’s stress bore down on her. The softness of her bed called out but she didn’t want to move from her spot; didn’t want to leave her mother without some sort of resolution.

It was then Alexandria noticed her mother had stopped in the middle of her dishwashing; her fingers resting against the lip of a freshly rinsed plate in the drying rack and her head bent forward as if she were gazing down in thought at the water in the sink. Alexandria’s confused expression turned into one of horror as Mary suddenly uttered a choked sob and burst into tears; her hands flying up to cover her face. The sounds, as sharp as knives, cut into Alexandria’s heart and her eyes welled up. 

She had made her mother cry...

The pain of that knowledge was white-hot and excruciating and, unable to tolerate the sounds further, Alexandria withdrew into the security of her bedroom. She curled up into a fetal position on her bed, clutching her pillow again for support. Something had to be done, something to make everything better again. Alexandria sniffed and smeared the tears that traveled down her cheeks, knowing she was the source of the entire mess and as such it would be all up to her to correct it. And, as much as she didn’t want to admit it, there was a very simple answer to her problem.

She knew what she had to do.

0-0-0-0-0

Bumblebee hummed as he busied himself with his daily maintenance checks; the catchy melody echoing about the stasis platform as his large metal digit tapped rhythmically against the console. The song was from one of Alexandria’s favorite films and in the midst of her synopsis of it, she’d sung it to him. Apparently it was common for humans to incorporate musical sequences into their holos, especially when they were created by an Earthian faction known as Disney. 

A smile tugged at his facial plates as he recalled the tiny female’s hesitation at performing the song but with some gentle encouragement she was able to belt out the tune; complete with several animated actions, which had amused him to no end. 

Bee, of course, complimented her afterward, to which she thanked him even though she believed her voice had been terribly off-key. At his dismissal she teasingly reminded him he didn’t have anyone to compare her to. 

“Tranquil as a forest but on fire within… Once you find your center, you are sure to win…” he sang under his breath as he viewed trajectory coding. His much deeper voice gave the words a certain vibrating edge; nothing close to the sweet, airy tune Alexandria had carried. 

There came a shudder in his protoform as Bee entered a slight course alteration into his navigational unit; one that would divert him laterally within the various interspace energy streams and thus miss a rather large and dense asteroid field that was in his path. His external plating and the speed at which he traveled ensured no serious damage would take place but that didn’t mean he enjoyed the searing pain that contact with one of the erratically floating rocks brought with it.

He grunted; his left side still burning from an optic sized pebble that had managed to shear its way briefly along his protoform before vaporizing into hot microscopic matter. One hand rubbed reflexively at the side that corresponded to the marred area, even though the virtual action would do nothing to soothe the ache. 

Pain or not, his mood remained elevated for Alexandria would arrive soon and, as it was Friday night, that meant a new movie.

Bee hummed in thought, giving his head a shake. Humans. Such interesting and creative creatures who put obscene amounts of effort into sharing their greatest desires and fears through visual storytelling. It was a wonder they were able to focus on anything else. 

Bee’s optics flicked to a screen to his right. It once streamed the human data but now showed star charts and visual images from the external environment The files retrieved from the human ship had been untouched for some time and now they remained encrypted within his data banks; likely never to be accessed again. Alexandria’s movies had provided him with far more insight into the human psyche than the overly scientific data ever would have. The very inner workings of the human mind were offered freely by her in the retelling of these stories; almost as if she was leading him to an open doorway and all he had to do was walk through.

The tune emitting from his vocal processor faltered slightly. Was it wrong of him to exploit information from Alexandria this way? 

Perhaps. 

But maybe it wasn’t the amount of information she gave him. Maybe it was what the information could be used for that was the underhanded part. The part that worried him.

Information to create ways of manipulation and control. To exploit weaknesses and tear down strengths. To ensure Autobot safety for there were so very few of them left and times were becoming desperate.

Desperate enough to employ such tactics. Tactics commonplace among Decepticons.

Bumblebee suddenly felt dirty.

Sensors beeped signaling Alexandria’s arrival and he gave silent thanks for a distraction from the recent dark turn of his inner musings. 

He turned to greet her, whistling a light trill. “Good evening, angel. How was your da—”. The warm welcome stopped abruptly as he took in her appearance. Alexandria’s bright smile was absent and her eyes, usually full of adoration, stared up at him with such sorrow that his spark ached within his chest.

Bee quickly closed the short distance between them and knelt before her.

“What happened? What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice tense with worry. He scanned her for injuries but found none that were visually obvious.

Alexandria drew in a shaky breath, her hands trembling at her sides. “I c-can’t visit you anymore, Bee.”

The words were barbs, sharp and stinging. He shook his head in confusion.

“I… Was it something I did?” he asked softly.

“No, no of course not,” Alexandria replied fiercely. “You’ve only been kind and wonderful to me. You’re amazing and well… just amazing. But I can’t… I just can’t…” 

Bee watched as she fought for what she wanted to say. A tear rolled down her cheek, glistening against pale green skin, and he wracked his processor for ways to comfort her. To ease her distress.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

Alexandria gave a choked laugh. “I wish you could, Bee. But, this is something I have to fix by myself. I... lied to my mom and now things are different between us. I hurt her.”

It was a confession. Raw and painful. So much so that the tiny human seemed even more bare and fragile when standing before him.

“And in order to make things right,” Alexandria continued, “I need to focus, which means I can’t come here anymore. I can’t… I need to concentrate on her. She’s my mother… my family.” At this point her head was dipped and she stared at the floor in misery.

It was obvious to Bee that she was trying to convince not only him but herself as well that the decision was for the best. 

Bee whirred. “Alexandria.”

Sad eyes looked up at his. The smile she received in return was gentle and reassuring.

“I understand.” 

“You do?” she whispered.

“Yes.” One large digit traced just above the outline of her cheek, following the path of the tear. Alexandria’s eyes closed briefly, head tilting toward the sensation. 

“There’s nothing more important than family,” he said, his words weighted with truth. “You do what you have to for you and your mother.”

She nodded and then held his gaze. “I will. But know you’ll always be my friend, Bee.”

“And you mine.”

Her smile finally appeared but another tear fell.

“Do you need to leave right now?” he asked, hopeful their last conversation wouldn’t just be of loss and sorrow. 

“No. I can stay until the morning.” Her fingers smoothed over her face, wiping away the trailing dampness. “I’d like to just talk tonight, if that’s okay…”

“Of course. Whatever you want. Is there something specific you want to talk about?” He raised a brow plate in question.

“You. The other Autobots. Cybertron.” Alexandria sat before him. “Your home. Your family. That’s what I want to hear about tonight.”

He nodded. “Alright.”

And so he did.

It was small things he spoke of to her in their remaining time together; the little things that defined his friends and home. 

Of the many nicknames Jazz bestowed upon others. How the light of the sunset played off Iacon’s spiraling steeples to create millions of glittering diamonds. The never ending patience of Optimus with the younger, rambunctious bots under his care. How Arcee would stop in her travels to feel the velvety texture of a flower’s petals against her digits. Sunstreaker’s curious obsession with his pristine paint-job. The twisting dance of red-tinted cyclones over the Sea of Rust. How he and Cliffjumper would race the torrential rains in the Acid Wastes. 

All the while, Alexandria, already familiar with the names from past stories, listened attentively. She didn’t ask her questions or offer comparisons but rather just let the words flow as they came from him. 

It was comforting for each side. 

And when Alexandria began to wince, palm pressing lightly against her brow, Bee knew their time had come to an end. She glanced over her shoulder into the distance as if looking back toward her physical form. She too was aware they only had a few more moments before she’d be ripped out of stasis. 

Dragging in a deep breath she stood and turned to him. “Before I go, I need you to promise me something if you ever visit Earth.” Her tone was serious and whatever it was carried with it a heavy weight.

A promise seemed fair considering how Alexandria had made several for him and the others, but he had an uneasy feeling that he already knew what she was about to ask.

He couldn’t seek her out, even as much as he wanted to. She had to remain safe and that meant keeping her at a distance unless he had no other choice.

Nevertheless, he found himself nodding along with the request.

“I need you to promise me that if you ever come to Earth, you’ll be careful.”

Incorrect in his assumption, Bee blinked in surprise. 

“What do I have to be careful of?” he asked slowly, not quite sure why he was suddenly filled with a sense of dread.

“Humans.”

The word lingered in the space between them. He stared at her for several long moments before remembering the conversation that had taken place between her and Ratchet. Suddenly his sense of dread seemed well validated.

Bee placed one hand over his spark. “I promise,” he said, the words ones that Alexandria wanted to hear; the relief he saw in her eyes made that more than apparent.

Alexandria’s body shimmered and became hazy.

“Thank you… for everything, Bumblebee.”

He hummed low; bright eyes dimming as his spark wrenched in its chamber.

Her form flickered.

“Goodbye, my angel.”

“Goodb—”

And then she was gone and the isolation of the void his only companion once more.

0-0-0-0-0

The peace of the early morning was broken by soft sobbing. Alexandria, curled in her bed, wept into the pillow; mourning the loss of her friend and fearful of what future her decision would bring.

Footsteps downstairs, given away by the creak of old floorboards under thin carpet, signaled her mother was awake. Alexandria dragged herself out of bed and over to the dresser mirror. Her reflection stared back with its red, puffy eyes and tear stained face. She looked terrible but it was time.

Her mother was in the living room, straightening cushions and wiping away thin layers of surface dust, when Alexandria caught up to her. Alexandria felt her heart swell at the sight of the person she loved most and she was unable to sound out the words she wanted to say.

Instead she went up behind her mother and wrapped her arms tightly around her, burying her face into the smooth cotton of her mother’s shirt.

Mary tensed then partially twisted around in the embrace, looking down at her daughter in surprised confusion.

“Alexandria, what’s wrong?” Mary asked, her voice edged with worry but still guarded.

“I’m sorry!” Alexandria cried into the fabric, squeezing her eyes shut against fresh tears. “I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“What—”

“I understand now. Why what I did was wrong.” Alexandria’s body trembled. “And I want to get better!  I’ll take the medications. I’ll do what the doctors say. I’ll stay away from the voices. Anything to get better. Just please don’t be sad…”

Mary’s voice warbled in response. “Oh… sweetheart…” 

Alexandria felt comforting arms draw her close and there came the gentle pressure on her head where lips were pressed.

“You’re the  _ most _ important person in my life,” Alexandria confessed in a broken whisper.

“And you mine,” Mary replied with the warmth and love that only could be found between parent and child.

The heartbeat under Alexandria’s ear was soothing and a kiss found its way to her brow making Alexandria choke a sob in relief. 

She was forgiven.

“And don’t you worry, my love,” Mary continued. “We’ll do this together. You and I. We’ll get through this, just as we always have...” 

They were words of strength. Words of support.

It was a promise.


	10. Beyond the Aftermath

_ Three minutes, twenty-two seconds… _

There came a high pitched pulse of energy off to the left, followed by the crack of metal. 

_ Nice. Five points. _

Four thin vertical lines, cut in half by a horizontal slash, were marked on a sheet of paper. The count so far was fifteen and, based on the time, things were looking good. 

Sam Witwicky shifted on the flat stone slab he was perched on and stuffed the remainder of his burger in his mouth. Chewing thoughtfully, he watched as Bumblebee ran across the open expanse of the field, slide to a stop, touch the ground and run back the way he came.

_ Ten sets of lines. Two minutes left… _

“Gotta hustle, Bee!” he called in a muffled yell of encouragement. He received a determined buzz as the mech ran past his location. 

It had been one month since the battle of Mission City and two weeks since the duo were given permission to return to the Witwicky home in Southgate. With unaccounted Decepticons still roaming the streets, there was hesitation among both humans and Autobots at letting anyone leave the safety of the military base everyone had regrouped at following the battle. Only after Bee had been appointed guardianship over Sam and, by association, Sam’s parents and Mikaela, did they receive the go-ahead. 

Sam watched as Bee rounded a large boulder at the far end of the field and head toward a small grove of trees where several targets hung among the branches. As each mark was struck by cannon fire, the pencil slid over the page, adding more strokes to the score. 

The obstacle course Bee was currently running was one they’d come up with together at the Scout’s request for an intense training regimen. The severe damage Starscream’s missile had inflicted on his legs had fried a couple of fine motor processes and even though Ratchet finished the main bulk of repairs and given Bee a relatively clean bill of health, Bee insisted he wouldn’t know what calibrations were needed unless he put his body through its paces. Sam, now the ever present human at Bee’s side, had been more than willing to help, seeing how the bot saved his life more than once. 

Each afternoon, after Sam finished school, the pair travelled north of the city to a section of the Angeles National Forest that was a popular hangout for the local teenagers. The hidden and poorly maintained access road kept the general public away and only troopers with a serious grudge against underage drinking went out of their way to add it to their patrol route. 

Sam made sure Bumblebee kept to an area off the very end of the road, away from the pond and soft grassy knolls that attracted the majority of the teens for their parties and bonfires. The overgrowth of long wild grasses and low hanging branches also made it difficult to navigate through and helped as general deterrents.

The initial course had started off fairly simple, merely a track around the perimeter of a forest-surrounded field, but as the days passed, increasingly complex challenges were added until it became a full forced obstacle course that would make any Tough Mudder participant proud.

Bee vaulted over a fallen tree and ducked into a roll to avoid a low hanging rope that was strung across the pathway. Sam grimaced as one of Bee’s door wings clipped the rope, threatening to rip it from the thin saplings to which it was tied, but luckily the mech felt the initial pull and quickly adjusted. With a twang, the rope snapped back into place and Bee charged on.

“Yeah, Bee!” Sam clapped, happy he didn’t have to deduct any points. 

Only one more challenge remained and the bot was heading to it full throttle. 

A sharp upturn in the terrain overlooked a deep ravine where a small stream trickled through the underbrush. On the far side, a red line of spray paint drawn across the ground marked the goal. 

Three paces before the ravine, Bee dove forward and activated his alt-mode; changing into the familiar black and yellow Camaro mid-air. Engine roaring with power and tires gripping the gravelly sand of the embankment, Bee hit the jump with a massive force of acceleration and cleared it easily, landing smoothly on the other side. A haze of dust was kicked up as he swerved to the side, aiming head-on for the finish line. 

The watch ticked on. It was going to be close.

On passing a leaf barren bush, there came the shifting of armor plates again as Bee changed back into his bipedal form for the end stretch. The velocity at which he traveled required a quick somersault in order to get back to his feet. On taking the first few strides out of the roll, however, Bee’s right leg appeared to drag behind and Sam watched in shock as the mech lost his footing and crashed into the ground; dirt and grass clumps flying in all directions. 

Sam leapt from his perch and hurried toward his friend who was struggling to maneuver into a seated position. 

“You okay?” he blurted out upon reaching Bee’s side. 

The bot grunted in reply as he ran his digits over his leg plates and found one that appeared to bulge out from the others. Sam noticed that the limb was fixed in a bent position. 

“Locked hydraulic,” Bee grumbled, bracing both hands against his knee joint and pushing downward. Sam grimaced, hearing the whine of strained gears followed by a loud crack as the leg was forced into full extension. Bee huffed his vents, pain etched on his face and he gingerly flexed his leg, testing the range of motion. The movement was jerky and there came the rough sound of grinding parts and clinking of loose internal fragments.

Sam gave Bee a weary look and gestured to the limb. “Are you sure you should have done that? Sounds like you made it worse.” 

“I could have left it the way it was if you didn’t mind us walking home.” Bee chuckled briefly before a hiss of discomfort escaped him as he stood and put weight on the injury. He limped in a circle around Sam. “Slag… I thought I was done with this.”

“Dude, you took on a missile. I’m surprised you recovered as fast as you did,” Sam pointed out. “I watched the soldiers help Ratchet gather up your legs. They were blown to pieces. That angry Dorito did a hell of a number on you.”

Bee cocked his head at the unfamiliar word and paused in his movements, likely seeking its meaning via the internet. After a moment he huffed a laugh in understanding. “He does look like that, doesn’t he?”

Sam grinned but the humor was short lived as Bee gave another grunt.

“How bad does it hurt?” Sam asked, shifting from one foot to the next. He was partly to blame for this set-back. The jump and transformations had been his idea after all.

“More irritating than painful. Like rubbing shards of glass between your hands.”

The flabbergasted teen gaped up at him. “What? That sounds incredibly painful!” 

“Well I guess so. At least if you’re a human.”

The pair made their way back to the rock where Sam’s bag was.

“Can’t you turn off sensors or something?” Sam asked, thinking back to Mission City as he watched Bee hobble beside him. “You looked fairly comfortable hooked up to that tow truck during the battle. Do whatever you did then.” 

“You mean a clamp?” Bee asked, then gave a shake of his head. “I don’t like to use that function unless I’m in combat as usually the pain is twice as bad after its removed. It’s also not the greatest feeling either.” Bee shuddered at the thought of the icy numbness. 

Sam stopped packing his belongings to look questioningly up at the bot. “So… you were actually in a lot of pain after Mission City. Why didn’t you say anything?”

Warbling softly, Bee shrugged. “Can’t show weakness in front of our new allies.” 

It was an odd response to hear from someone usually so upbeat and Sam wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. Not knowing what to say, he continued to busy himself quietly while Bee stared off into the distance. 

“It’s probably for the best that we finished early today.” Bee said, gesturing to a gathering of grey clouds in the sky beyond. “It’s going to rain soon.”

At this, Sam couldn’t help but chuckle. “I know you take the whole guardianship thing seriously, Bee, but I promise you I can survive a bit of softly falling water.”

Optics turned to regard Sam, amusement in their blue depths. “I’m just making sure you’re in perfect health for Ratchet’s visit tomorrow, that’s all.”

“Wait, Ratchet’s coming? When was this planned?” Sam asked as Bee transformed with another unhealthy sound of broken metal on metal. The driver’s side door opened and Sam got in, tossing his backpack on the passenger’s side and settling in comfortably against the form-fitting seat. The Camaro took off, kicking up a cloud of dust as it sped down the poorly defined road toward the open stretch of highway that would lead them back to Southgate. 

“I updated him about my broken hydraulic,” Bee replied, his voice coming through the radio. “Epps was scheduled for an inspection anyway so Ratchet is tagging along.” 

“My mom will be glad to hear that. She has a list this long”—Sam’s hands spread wide in the air—“full of renovations she wants done to the house.”

Bee whirred. “She’s supposed to let Corporal Mathews know of anything she needs,” he said, referring to the stiff-postured, stern-faced soldier who had been stationed in the house adjacent to Sam’s.

“She  _ did _ ,” Sam said, remembering the lengthy discussion between the two women that he had been privy to during one unfortunate breakfast. “But apparently Corporal Mathews is working on the  _ first _ list. Mom now has a  _ second  _ one.”

“We really did that much damage to your property?”

“Pff, no” Sam waved off the concerned question. “These are all changes she wants done to support the Autobot that’s now living with us.”

The engine whined faintly and Sam sensed Bee took what he had said in a negative light. He quickly continued, hoping to reassure the big guy.

“For instance, she thinks the garage is too small and drafty. Several rafters have mold, hence the musty smell. The lighting is crap. And it also needs an automatic door that you can control, which will make it easier to come and go.”

“I… Your mother actually said that?” Bee asked softly.

“I also saw the list.”

“That’s very kind of her,” Bee said after a moment’s pause. “But, she doesn’t need to worry about my comfort. It’s unnecessary.”

Sam scoffed. “Of course she does. Alien or not, you’re a guest in our home and my mother takes her role in being a good hostess very seriously. And you know, I agree with the changes she wants. Honestly, Bee, you were given a shit job watching over us. I can only assume it’s mind-numbingly boring at best. Least we could do is make your surroundings less… terrible.”

An amused warble echoed in the cabin. “Your garage is a far cry from terrible living quarters, considering I spent time stationed at an Autobot stronghold located in a sewer system. Wading through alien excrement was a daily occurrence. Now  _ that _ was a ‘shit job’.”

“That’s disgusting.” Sam’s face scrunched up in a grimace at the imagery. “Damn, man, sorry you had to go through that.” A gentle pat was given to the steering wheel.

“Your sympathy is appreciated.” Bee chuckled; the motor accompanying the sound with its own deep throaty rev, which decreased in pitch as the duo wound down an exit ramp onto a tranquil tree-lined street. 

Sam gazed out the driver’s side window. People milled about the front entrances of the local stores, eager to finish up their evening shopping. His eyes lingered momentarily on several long-legged girls in high-cut shorts before they were out of view and became distant specks behind them. Their pleasantly decorated features and form fitting curves, while appealing, became bland as memories surfaced, which teased his mind of a beauty with raven-haired locks and clear blue eyes. Mikaela’s physical attractiveness was enough to make most men stop in their tracks to behold, but it was the glimpses of a brave heart and fiery disposition that now quickened his pulse. 

“I wonder how Mikaela is doing,” he voiced aloud his thoughts, earning a hum from Bee.

“We could swing by her place if you want,” the mech offered, well aware of the pair’s desire to be with one another given their fledgling relationship. Sam shook his head and briefly coughed into his fist as heat flushed up his neck. 

Sometimes the Autobot was a little too observant. 

“Ah no, it’s okay,” he declined, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. “She said she’s busy today anyway. Had to work at the shop. I’ll give her a call when we’re back home.”

“Alright,” Bee agreed, the topic dropped.

Sam resumed his passenger duties of watching the fleeting scenery, ensuring he placed his hands on the wheel at traffic lights to at least make it appear he was in control of the vehicle to any onlooker. 

At one particularly long red, a large group of individuals a bit older than Sam’s age crossed the intersection. They were rowdy; hooting and hollering at passing cars attempting to urge the drivers to honk and wave in response. The happy cries that followed successful prompts were accompanied by high-fives and light roughhousing. All wore the same vividly colored pattern on their clothing or painted across bare torsos, indicating a group preference of a single sports team. 

Passing in front of Bee’s bumper, one hyped up man turned to face Sam and slapped his palms against the hood. Sam flinched and gave the guy a look of disbelief. 

“Dude, hands off the car!” Sam yelled, managing to crack the window down so he could be heard. The fan ignored him however and pumped both hands in the air.

“Yeah! Patriots!” he bellowed, which was followed by similar cheers from his fellows. Without a backward glance at Sam, the guy rejoined the group in their trek down the street.

Sam sputtered. “Who does that? Who just hits someone else’s car like that?” He leaned forward to check the black and yellow paint-job on the front, knowing there wouldn’t be any damage but still scanning the area anyway. 

“Strange…” Bee muttered as he watched the partially nude humans continue their antics. 

“Well that’s what you get when you mix alcohol and jocks with football.” Sam sighed, his tolerance for testosterone driven muscle-heads limited even on the best of days.

“Football?”

“Yeah, it’s a sport where a bunch of people try to get a ball across a field to score points. Not really my thing but, as you can see, some people get really into it.”

“That’s certainly an… interesting way of showing your commitment to an activity,” Bee replied, obviously trying to be polite.

Sam gave the dashboard a skeptical look. “You’ve been here three years—”

“Two.”

“Okay, two years and you’re still surprised by how humans act?”

The light blinked green and Bee took off with a rumble. The radio crackled briefly. “You’re implying that I’ve experienced  _ every _ human behavior there is.”

“Well no.” Sam cocked his head. “But can’t you just download everything about us from like, the internet?”

“Reading about something and seeing it occur with your own optics is very different,” Bee countered. 

“Hence the ‘two years’ part.” 

There came a deep chuckle. “Still implying, Samuel.”

The teen snorted at the teasing use of his full name but the upward tilt of the corners of his mouth showed no offence was taken. 

“Well, the internet also comes with videos so I’d start watching if I were you. If you think what we just saw was weird, just wait until it comes time for the final game—the Super Bowl—in February.”  

A hum from the engine reverberated through the interior and Sam felt the fine sensations against the fleshy pads of his fingers as they lay against the wheel’s leather casing.

“It’s still… not the same,” Bee said, having difficulty finding the right way to describe it so that Sam would understand. “For instance, if I gave you all the knowledge about my race and planet via holos—”

“Are holos what Optimus showed us in the alley?” Sam interrupted.

There came a confirmatory whirr from the mech. “Yes. Similar to human videos but the content is captured using algorithms to account for environmental dimension and the space between objects. It allows for a more detailed representation of the viewer’s perspective compared to a sequence of still images played at high speed.” 

“Very,” Sam replied, remembering how he and Mikaela had stepped back from where the black asphalt of the street appeared to crumble away into deep pits of molten liquid. “You know a lot about this type of stuff, huh?”

“What? How holos work?” Bee hummed in amusement. “Actually I don’t. I’m just repeating what I heard from someone else.”

Sam couldn’t help but laugh at the bot’s honesty. “Damn, Bee. You could have lied and I wouldn’t have known any different. Too bad too because you were sounding quite smart there.”

“I like to believe my intelligence lies in more socially relevant matters,” Bee countered with a trill. “Think of Ratchet. Cranial circuits up the aft—”

“And insanely awkward in a conversation. I remember all too well.” Sam hung his head as he groaned; the ‘mating’ comment from the medic still all too fresh. “I don’t think I’ll ever live that down…. Anyway, I got us off topic there. You were saying something about showing me holos?”

“It’s alright and yes. If I showed you everything you needed to know about my race and world via holos and then dropped you off on Cybertron, would you be fully prepared for every situation that arose?”

This was rather difficult for Sam to picture as the only time he had been out of California was the forced trip to Nevada via Sector Seven. The idea of traveling to a different world for someone whose feet had never left American soil just didn’t seem feasible. 

“Um, I think I’d just flail and shriek and collapse into a sniveling mess if you did that,” Sam answered with a lift of his shoulders. “I wouldn’t be prepared for anything. I’d probably forget how to do basic necessities like breathing. That is assuming there is even breathable air on Cybertron…”

“There is. But what makes you think you’d react that way?”

Sam huffed. “C’mon, Bee. You’ve seen me under stress. I freak out.” 

“You do have a habit of rambling when nervous...”

“See? And that’s just over little stuff when compared to going to a whole other planet.”

“Yes, but—”

“So I guess my answer is no. No, I wouldn't be prepared if you showed me a bunch of holos. I’d never be prepared because I get too high-strung under pressure.”

“I wouldn’t necessarily say that—”

“Now maybe if it were Lennox or Epps who went to Cybertron then it would be different;  _ they _ would be prepared. Or at least they would be for the big things I guess. I mean, soldiers prepare for war and yet when they actually go through it there are still things they  _ aren’t _ ready for.”

“Sam.”

“Same goes for people who do research before going on vacation. My parents read  _ everything  _ there was about Cuba before going there and yet they still got sick from eating too much fruit—”

“Sam!”

“Hm?” The teen stopped and blinked, pulled from his rant by the sharp rise in volume of Bee’s voice.

Bee sighed. “You really need to start giving yourself more credit. Yes, you get a bit tense when in a stressful situation—”

“That’s putting it nicely,” Sam mumbled. 

“ _ But,  _ when it comes down to the moments that really matter, you show commendable strength.”

Not usually on the end of a compliment in regard to a measure of his character, Sam shifted in his seat. “I do?”

“Optimus told us that you openly defied Megatron while in his presence,” Bee said, reminding Sam of his rooftop showdown with the Decepticon leader. “There’s not many bots who would be able to do the same. You should be proud of yourself.”

“I was just doing what was right...” Sam tried to sound dismissive but he could feel the warmth spread in his chest and he knew Bee was aware he was taking to heart what was said. Coughing, a bit embarrassed, Sam continued. “Sorry, I think I got us off topic again. I guess you’re right, Bee. You can’t fully know what to expect until you actually experience it. And you know what that means, right?”

“What?”

“It means you still have a  _ long  _ way to go with human interactions,” Sam told him with an amused grin.

Bee chuckled. “I look forward to it then.”

“Just let me know if you have trouble understanding something,” Sam told him. “I’ll do my best to try and help.”

Another hum came through the speakers; Sam hearing the approval in the sound. 

 

0-0-0-0-0

 

Tiny feathered bodies fluttered and jumped amid the large flowering bush at the edge of the yard. Bumblebee sat nearby, watching the birds as they chattered amongst themselves; the high-pitched musical notes accompanying flashes of color as they moved in their aerial dance. Several venturous ones came close to his position near the open mouth of the garage and he kept still in order not to frighten the amusing creatures. 

The surrounding air was heavy with the floral scent of Judy’s garden and the tops of the trees rustled softly above. Bee cycled his vents, enjoying the perfumes of the blooms mixed with the sweetness of the fall breeze; the soothing tranquility of the yard helping to divert his thoughts from the irritation in his right leg. 

Grumbling to himself, Bee looked at the injured limb. Hydraulics tended to leak when damaged; sending a mildly corrosive fluid, which normally lubricated the piston mechanism, into surrounding parts. This resulted in a burning itch within the leg and his digits twitched with the need to scratch for relief. With a huff and irritated click, he shook his head and refocused his attention on the birds.

One colored in blue and orange was busying itself in the recently repaired fountain that decorated the center of the yard. Bee hummed in amusement at its antics as glistening droplets of water flew everywhere each time it ruffled its feathers.

Suddenly, the little creature paused in its activities and then darted away into the hidden recesses of the trees. Bee froze as well at the sound of footsteps on gravel that were coming toward his location. A quick check of the sensors he’d placed around the property, however, indicated the signature was a familiar one and he aborted the sequence of code that would shift him into his alt form. 

Corporal Mathews rounded the side of the house and she gave a nod upon noticing him. As usual, the strands of her straight silvery-blonde hair were knotted up into a tight bun, which complemented the stark plainness of the navy pantsuit she wore. Her features remained free from makeup and the only trinkets that decorated her person was a single metal chain that lay around her neck, which Bee knew held her military identification tags. A slight bulge at her hip indicated she was armed, and thus on duty.

According to Captain Lennox, Corporal Teresa Mathews was a military woman through and through.

“Scout Bumblebee, good morning,” she greeted on reaching his side. 

“Morning and you really don’t need to keep calling me by my designation. Just Bumblebee is fine,” he said, having gone through this with her before. The reminders, however, likely wouldn’t change anything. “How are things?”

Mathews assumed a disciplined stance, clasping her hands behind her back. Head tilting slightly, she replied after a moment of thought. “Adequate.”

“That’s good I suppose…” Bee said, a little perplexed at her constant stiff formality. She was always to-the-point and he was fairly sure he had yet to see her crack a smile. “All set up in the new house?” he asked, gesturing to the two story building next door.

The U.S. army, in its effort of maintaining surveillance over the Witwicky household due to their knowledge of above-top-secret government intel, had purchased the adjoining properties. The elderly widow who previously occupied the house where Mathews was assigned couldn’t handle the stress of living in California anymore; the last straw being the most recent “earthquake” and destruction of her greenhouse. The house on the other side was nothing more than a vacationing home for a northern couple and, according to Judy, was unused over the past few years anyway. Getting rid of the large superfluous expense likely played a part in convincing its owners to sell at such short notice. It currently remained without a tenant.

“There are still some modifications that need to be made.” Mathews sniffed and her brows lowered in a slight frown. “And it’s taken some time to finish shipping the last of Mrs. Wilson’s possessions. She was quite the tupperware hoarder. Anyway, how’s the leg? Are you still able to function in a fight?” She cast a critical look to his lower half.

_ Always to the point… _

“I’m not as graceful as usual but I’ll still hold my own.”

“Glad to hear that but still, the sooner Medical Officer Ratchet repairs you, the better.”

“Well, I can’t disagree with you there,” Bee replied as the frustrating itch returned, threatening to make him glitch. Fortunately his sensors activated again, the signature now Autobot in origin, and he looked toward the driveway that wrapped around the house. “And with that, I think they’ve arrived.”

A neon green emergency Hummer appeared, pulling close to the garage before stopping. The driver’s door opened, letting the lone passenger exit the vehicle and Bee warbled a greeting to the familiar face.

“Hey there, Bee,” Sergeant Epps called as he hit the ground. Jerking a thumb at the Hummer, which had began to shift and change, Epps grinned. “I heard you needed a visit from the Doc-bot.”

Ratchet, now in his bipedal form, remained in a semi-crouched position; his full height not allowing him to be completely covered by the privacy trees that lined the property. He grunted at the liberal generalization of his rank.

“I wouldn’t have had to make this trip if everyone remained at the base with us,” Ratchet grumbled, looking pointedly at Bumblebee and then Sam, who had just exited the porch door in response to the arrival of the newcomers. Ratchet knelt down at Bee’s injured side. “There was a full range of accommodations for human living; no need to return to such an open and vulnerable location.”

“A fair and reasonable point,” Mathews spoke up, her stance even straighter than before; owing to the presence of an, albeit extraterrestrial, officer. 

Epps’ face was tight, as if trying to stifle a laugh, and Bee guessed this wasn’t the first time Ratchet had brought up his particular view on the situation. 

_ “Look, I know you aren’t happy with the arrangement but please don’t say anything to Sam or his parents,”  _ Bee asked Ratchet through the comm. “ _ Yes, it’s not the safest move but they’re civilians and we’ve put them through a lot over a short amount of time. They needed to get back to a familiar setting. Their routine.”  _ Bee looked to Sam, who had joined the group and was getting a friendly clap on the shoulder from Epps.

A plate on Ratchet’s side slid forward and he removed a storage unit from the hidden compartment. “ _ I am perfectly aware of the strain that combat and first contact can inflict on a naive individual,” _ Ratchet replied as he opened the device to access a thin sheet of anti-static material. A few loose stones on the pavement near Bee’s leg were swept away and the cloth spread out to create a makeshift sterile field.

Bee waited for the counter argument to his concern but Ratchet continued prepping for the repairs and no further response came through the comm. Knowing his request would be adhered to, Bee relaxed with a content whirr. 

“Hey Ratchet. Mathews.” Sam said, nodding at each as he came over to check out the action.

“Samuel,” they both responded at once, making Bee chuckle at the look that appeared on the boy’s face.

“Sam. It’s just Sam. Easy to remember, only three letters,” Sam pleaded but, unfortunately, all he got were two blank stares. Sighing, he pulled out a folding chair from the garage and parked himself by Bee’s feet. 

Epps gestured to Mathews. “We should get to your report. Let’s leave these three to their visit and, uh"—he squinted at the oddly shaped and sharp looking tools Ratchet had further removed from the container and placed on the cloth—”whatever Ratchet is about to do to Bee.”

“Of course,” Mathews agreed. She nodded at the bots and Sam before following Epps into the house. 

Ratchet watched them leave then looked down at Sam. “I don’t understand why you take offence when called by your given name,” he said, cocking a brow plate.

“It’s an old-fashioned name; my grandfather’s name. It just makes me feel old when people use it.” Sam shrugged. “That or I think I’m in trouble, thanks to my parents.”

“Don’t think anything of it, Sam. Ratchet just doesn’t use diminutive names period,” Bee said with an amused smile. “I’ve been Bumblebee up to now and I’ll be Bumblebee until I die.”

“You’ll be scrap metal if I find out these marks here are from you scratching,” Ratchet retorted, jabbing a digit at a scuffed plate on Bee’s leg. 

Letting out a defensive buzz, Bee shook his head. “Never.”

The lawnchair scraped lightly on the gravel as Sam leaned back in it, head tilted slightly as he looked at Bee. “Yeah, you were. Last night during the movie. You kept digging at that area.” Sam tapped his fingers against his own leg where Bee’s injury would be if on a human form. “But maybe you weren’t aware you were doing it,” he added at the confused look on Bee’s face.

There came a sudden clang and Bee flinched as Ratchet struck the top of his helm with one of his tools. 

“Do not scratch!” Ratchet all but bellowed, the tool coming closer to Bee’s face with each word.

Bee merely rolled his optics, having been on the receiving end of the medic’s rants a number of times already. Sam, however, looked like he couldn’t decide to remain frozen in shock or break out in laughter at the outburst. The twitching of the corners of his mouth suggested the latter.

“Okay, okay,” Bee waved off Ratchet. “I didn’t mean to.”

“You never ‘mean to’,” Ratchet grumbled, attaching the tool to his hand and extracting a modular access transmitter from within a chest plate. “Open access to all servo circuit programs,” he ordered, clamping the transmitter to Bee’s side.

A moment later, Bee’s right leg went slack as all control over the limb was lost. Ratchet hummed as he scanned through data logs.

So I take it scratching is a really bad thing for Cybertronians?” Sam piped up, looking back and forth between the bots.

“It can exacerbate the problem by spreading the contaminant or infectious organism and often leads to more destructive habits in search of symptom relief, such as self-dismantling. This one,” Ratchet nodded at Bee, “has an issue with the concept of  _ hands-off _ .” 

“Wait… Cybertronians can get infections? But you’re made of metal. How does that work?”

“ _ Living _ metal. There’s a difference,” Ratchet replied as a nozzle extended from his wrist and high pressured gas shot forth, enveloping the injured area in a billow of white steam. Droplets of fluid formed and rolled off onto the ground and Sam could see the growing pool was stained red. 

Turning off the gas, Ratchet gave Bee’s leg a critical look to ensure it was adequately cleansed. Apparently satisfied, the nozzle disappeared and Ratchet’s hand shifted and changed; incorporating the tool he had attached into a dominant position on the end. Working the tip into the crevices of the injury, he began removing loose and detached pieces. 

“For example, cosmic rust is a virus that affects the structural component of our cells,” Ratchet continued. “It, as the name suggests, causes us to rust. Bumblebee was infected with it when he was younger.”

Bee clicked and rubbed his face, feeling his lines heat up from embarrassment. 

“It’s hard picturing Bee as a little kid,” Sam said, brow creased in thought. “All I get is a smaller version of how he looks now.”

“That’s actually fairly accurate except remove the majority of armor plating bulk,” Ratchet said, tapping one of Bee’s torso plates with his digit. 

“You know, we can talk about something else,” Bee spoke up.

“Nonsense. The boy is curious and an opportunity to learn should never be wasted,” Ratchet dismissed the suggestion.

“Is it bad to get cosmic rust? Because the name doesn’t exactly sound terrifying.”

“The name is merely because it crosses species; it has nothing to do with the virulence of the illness,” Ratchet said. He paused briefly as he strained to remove a larger piece of broken metal. “It’s fatal if left untreated. Severe itching occurs in the initial stages and paralysis develops as joints become affected. This is followed soon after by stasis lock from circuit shut-down and eventual spark failure. Of course, this is if the bot makes it through the first stage as often complications arise from the patient attempting to get relief from the itching.”

Sam squinted up at the green mech. “Based on your reaction earlier, I take it this is what happened to Bee?”

Trilling, Bee tried to look as innocent as possible. “Ratchet just likes to embellish what happened.”

“For the love of Primus…” Ratchet shook his head and then leaned close to Sam. “We had to bind him to the bunk for attempting to pull apart his  _ spark chamber _ .” A glare was cast Bee’s way, who merely shrugged in response.

With a heavy sigh, Ratchet switched to another instrument from the assortment laid out on the cloth; this one resembling a circular grinder. It too was attached to his hand, which changed shape once again to accommodate the fit. Blue beams of light shot out from the side of Ratchet’s helm, scanning over Bee’s leg and the broken parts on the ground before shutting off.

“It appears all the pieces are present. You shouldn’t need a graft.” Ratchet muttered, picking up a metal fragment and running its edge along the blade as it came to life; the rapidly rotating disc caused the part to glow a molten color at the contact. The following high-pitched whine made Sam cringe.

“Oh god! That sounds like something I’d hear at a dentist.” A whole body chill shot up Sam’s body and he rubbed at his ears and jaw. 

Ratchet ignored the teen’s discomfort as he shaped each broken piece and welded them back onto Bumblebee’s leg; slowly recreating a functioning hydraulic.

The transmitter was removed once he finished and, looking over his work with a measure of pride, Ratchet motioned for Bee to stand. 

“You should have full functionality now, no need for restrictions. We’ll run some tests, however, before I go. Just to be sure.” Ratchet said as Bee walked a few steps along the driveway. “Turns out this”—Ratchet displayed a sliver of dusky grey metal—”was the cause of the malfunction.”

Sam squinted up at the hand hovering above him, unable to recognize what balanced precariously on Ratchet’s finger. “A piece of… That’s a… I really don’t know. What is it?” Sam asked. 

“Shrapnel from one of Starscream’s missiles.” Ratchet said, flicking it into the container where it rattled around before settling at the bottom. 

Taking a glance at it, Bee grunted in disgust. “The idea of having a piece of that spawn of Unicron anywhere near me makes me sick.” He sat down with a heavy thud and leaned against the garage frame. “Never mind stuck in my parts.”

“Next time before you go giving yourself some impromptu repairs, get all of the required scans. You could have saved yourself some grief.” Ratchet scolded the Scout, who grumbled in return.

Sam grinned. “I believe the correct response is ‘yes, dad’.” 

Turning to face Sam, Ratchet started up the blade again. “You know, Samuel, I can always take a look at those teeth of yours. I bet there’s a few that need some work.”

Sam’s eyes grew wide and he clapped a hand over his mouth, jumping out of the lawn-chair. “Oh, oh man, that’s not funny. You are  _ so  _ not funny.” He retreated toward the back porch, pointing a finger at Ratchet. “I’ll stop bugging you but damn. You can be down-right scary, Ratch.”

“That was cruel.” Bee chuckled, watching Sam disappear into the house. 

“I can keep soldering your parts if you wish,” Ratchet said, turning the light threat toward the Scout. 

It didn’t have the same effect as it had on Sam and Bee continued to regard the bigger bot with amusement.

Ratchet huffed and gathered up his supplies then sat next to Bee and looked around at their surroundings. “A nice spot they have here,” he muttered, optics following the birds that had cautiously reappeared on the fringes of the garden.

Bee nodded his agreement. “It’s peaceful. Quiet.”

“I thought you hated quiet. You made it apparent enough on the Ark.” Ratchet gave a sidelonged look at him. 

“That was different. This time we’re not waiting for something to happen. The Cube was found, Megatron’s been destroyed, the Decepticons are broken. We’ve done everything that we set out to do when we left Cybertron. We’re free to just live, now that the war is over… Right?” Bee asked, noticing Ratchet’s lack of response.

The medic had a sad look on his face and Bee’s door-wings drooped slightly. 

“A battle was won, an important one, but a battle nonetheless.” Ratchet admitted, his optics dimming. “Megatron may have been their leader but the Decepticon ideals did not die with him. His spot will not remain vacant for long, not when there remains generals out there who are more power-hungry and ruthless than he was. Starscream, Shockwave, Astrotrain… All unaccounted for and thus, all a very real threat.”

Bumblebee suddenly felt very tired. 

Everything they had worked for, everyone they had lost, had all been in the pursuit of the final climactic showdown with Megatron. The cold reality that nothing would change as a result of that victory twisted sickenly at his spark. 

A heavy weight settled on his shoulder and Bee looked to see Ratchet’s hand was placed there. 

“Is there even anything that  _ would  _ end this war? Anything that would unite the Autobots and Decepticons together, the way they once were?” Bee asked softly.

Ratchet shook his head. “I’m not sure. Optimus was always the best out of us all for answering philosophical questions.”

Bee snorted, giving him a curious look. “Did… you just make a joke?” he asked; the solemn tone of his voice giving away to amusement.

A subtle lifting of Ratchet’s mouth plates was his answer and Bee could help but begin to laugh. The seriousness of their situation, the futility of trying to attain something that may not even be obtainable, and yet here was one of the most stoic bots Bee knew making an attempt at humor; all in the hopes of cheering him up. 

Ratchet hummed, pleased at being able to sway the mood, and gave Bee a few pats before removing his hand. “I know in the great scheme of things, it may seem like a dauntless task,” he began, optics following the birds and then settling on the face of the young mech that was dear to them all, “But we do influence change for the better and  _ this  _ is what brings us close to what we once were. What we strayed away from.”

The information was mulled over for a moment; Bee staring at his hands which were held in his lap. “And where is it that we go from here?” he asked. “What ‘influence’ do we now have?”

“As all urgency has been removed and our options for resuming spaceflight are close to zero, we have been presented with a unique situation; one that we haven’t had for longer than I can remember. A chance to forge an alliance with a new species.”

Bee blinked up at Ratchet in surprise. “That wasn’t quite the feeling I got from the humans before leaving the base with Sam. What about Sector Seven?”

“Disbanded on order by this country’s leader. In its place, there are talks of an Autobot-human treaty. It’ll be largely overseen by the military but at least it’s a start. Several of the soldiers who fought in Mission City are already requesting to be a part of it; Captain Lennox and Sergeant Epps among them. They’ve even been working on an acronym; N.E.S.T.” 

“N.E.S.T?”

“Non-biological Extraterrestrial Species Treaty.”

“Catchy.”

Ratchet shrugged. “The premise largely grew from the need to deal with the remaining Decepticons that are in hiding on this world. I’m interested, however, in seeing it if evolves beyond just basic assistance with an advanced threat.”

The porch screen creaked open as Sam reappeared. He was followed by his mother who waved a hand in their direction; her smile bright and cheerful. Both mechs lifted their own hand in response and watched as Sam assisted Judy in unravelling the thick garden hose from its wheel at the side of the deck. 

“Your involvement with this family has also been the topic of much discussion at the base,” Ratchet informed Bee, who cocked his head.

“Oh?”

The medic nodded. “Apparently American civilians are kept largely in the dark on the inner workings of their leadership and yet they hold great sway over the structure to this country. In response, civilians are highly protected, especially against external forces that may be seen as a threat.” Ratchet gestured at Sam. “The dedication that boy and the young Mikaela Banes showed toward you after your capture by Sector Seven and again in Mission City, has given us a favorable light. To be blunt, the military sector we’re familiar with sees us as less threatening because of that.”

“So, does this mean I’ll be staying here then?”

“Yes. At least, for the time being.” Ratchet confirmed. “I take it you don’t have any problem with this?”

Bee shook his head. “None at all.”

“What about them? Have there been any concerns with your presence here from Sam or his creators?”

Thinking back to what Sam told him about Judy’s considerations toward his comfort, Bee hummed, still touched by the knowledge. “I don’t think there’ll be an issue. I’ll let you know if one comes up however.”

Ratchet nodded. “Good.”

The pair resumed enjoying the peaceful surroundings; the birds continuing in their frolicking and the Witwicky’s beginning to tend to the bright blooms.  


Sam wiped a soil covered hand across his shirt, leaving a gritty brown streak and Bee clicked as a thought came to him. 

“Did you really have to bring up my health history to Sam?” he asked the medic with a quirk of a brow plate; the embarrassing story still fresh on his mind. “I mean, you might find it interesting but I doubt Sam, or really anyone else, would.”

Ratchet, not missing a beat, responded. “Of course they do.”

_ Wait… they? _

“Huh?” Bee blinked, unable to sound out something more eloquent.

“I use that example of cosmic rust in all of my seminars on pathological organisms.”

With heated lines and face in his palms, all Bee could do was give a heavy groan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hello all. First off, as always, I want to say thank you for reading and reviewing. I really appreciate the interest and kind words. 
> 
> I also wanted to give everyone a heads-up in advance. This story will be dealing with content that is adult in nature (language, situations, topics, etc). I’ve noticed that some authors post warning messages in their chapters prior to such content or even in the chapter title, however, I will not be doing as such. The main reason for this is that I do not want to be giving anything away before it happens. Imagine reading a Stephen King book and getting warned a chapter in advance that there will be a scary part coming up. It just seems to ruin the flow and surprise all in one. 
> 
> I will try to depict all such content in as tasteful a manner as possible. I’m not trying to write things for a shock-and-awe effect or to stretch the limit of how gratuitous and explicit my writing skills can get. Everything should hopefully contribute to the story in some way; be it plot, character development, or atmosphere setting. 
> 
> With that said, if there is something you absolutely cannot read for whatever reason, and you notice the story is heading in that way, feel free to skip ahead either by sections or chapters. I break up my time changes with 0-0-0-0-0 so probably if you hit that marker, anything beyond it should be past what you didn’t want to read. 
> 
> Anyway, thank you for tolerating my long winded author’s note!


	11. Petals of the Earth

There came the repeated snipping of scissors as they cut their way through a heavy plastic bag with ease. The contents within, once revealed, released their pungent aroma to the surrounding air, thick and musty but not overly unpleasant. 

Ron Witwicky dropped the scissors back in the rectangular metal box that sat near his boot and they clanged and clacked against the myriad of other tools before finding a resting place. Ron reached into the bag with a gloved hand and scooped up a loose handful to bring it out into the sunlight. 

He thumbed the brown matter, which crumbled and shifted from the pressure of his digit. 

“Now, I like to add compost to my top-dressing. Maybe about a quarter’s worth,” he said, continuing to break apart the larger pieces in his palm. “Some people just go with the topsoil but to have a really good lawn you need something nutrient rich. Gives it that nice vivid green color. A mix of chicken manure and locally sourced leaves is my go-to for this.” 

Ron squinted up from under the floppy hat that adorned his head as he looked to his studious mechanical listener who sat nearby.

Bumblebee, cross-legged and arms folded across knee joints, was in his usual spot in front of the garage. He nodded in response to the information and regarded his charge’s parental unit with curious blue eyes, noting the subtle passion he could hear edging Ron’s words as he spoke of soil and grass. 

_ Strange creatures indeed,  _ Bee mused.

He gave an encouraging whirr and there came an upward twitch of Ron’s mouth; apparently the human was enjoying his role as tutor.

Ron tossed the handful into a small children’s pool that stood between them and dumped in the rest of the bag, soft dust billowing above the rim as the moist compost hit the drier soil already within the plastic boundaries. 

Grabbing a silver spade, Ron lifted and worked everything into an heterogeneous slurry of varying black and brown shades; quite the contrast to the cheerful pink and yellow checkered pattern of the pool.  

The mixture was to be used on the numerous bare swaths of dirt that cut across the backyard lawn like scars; each one resulting from the heavy treads of government-hired construction vehicles. 

Judy’s renovations had been urgent and hushed given the context of their purpose and had taken just shy of a month to complete. Although things had been rushed, one couldn’t argue that the final results weren’t impressive.

Bee glanced over his shoulder at the garage, which was now double its original size and, while the roof was still too short to allow Bee to stand, he could stretch out fully on the floor if he wished. The base and walls were also reinforced by thick concrete, allowing him to move or lean against the frame without worry of causing damage. Overall, it was so spacious that Sam brought in a small sofa to lounge on when he visited and even Ron contributed to the space by setting up an old television for the pair. 

As if in response to his thoughts, the teen appeared from around the side of the house, lugging another bag of compost over one shoulder.

“You know, Dad, I don’t think a lesson on what constitutes an ideal lawn top-dressing is Bee’s idea of a good time,” Sam said as he came up to the pair. He grunted and dropped the load he was carrying next to his father. Perspiration dotted his brow and arms and Sam wiped the back of one hand across his face, smearing the evidence of prolonged manual labor under a hot, bright sun. 

Ron shook his head, continuing to turn the mixture. “This is beneficial stuff considering his kind are living on this world now.”

“For what?” Sam laughed, skepticism evident on his face. “To prepare them for a job in landscaping?”

In response to the snarky tone, Ron just paused and leaned on the spade; regarding Sam who, never one to let the start of a good rant go, continued to press on. 

“I’m sure the first thing the Autobots will be worried about will be their lawn. Maybe we should be teaching them about how to build a birdhouse  _ and _ about what feed to put in said birdhouse.”

Bee chirped, feeling it was a good time to interject and divert the conversation away from the heated debate he knew was brewing between the two males. “Actually, this is rather interesting,” he said, interrupting the pair. 

“Seriously?” Sam cocked his head, gaze flicking back and forth between the bot and the pool. “Remind me I need to do a better job at introducing you to  _ exciting  _ human pastimes…”

“Hey! This stuff  _ is  _ exciting to the average homeowner,” Ron said defensively. “You’ll figure it out when you have your own lawn.”

“Oh god, if I  _ ever _ get as obsessed over  _ grass _ as you are, Pop, I’ll ask that you just put me out of my misery right here and now.” 

“Har har,” Ron replied, dripping sarcasm making the teen huff irritably. “Just you wait buddy-boy. The Witwicky line is known to have a fondness for shaping the great outdoors. Pair that with the green thumbs on your mother’s side, you have a lot to look forward to in this area. That  _ and  _ thinning hair of course.” One gloved finger pointed to the receding hairline that edged Ron’s scalp.

Bee couldn’t help but chuckle as the teasing parental remarks made his friend groan in submission.

“Maybe it’ll skip a generation…” Sam muttered, running a hand through his own hair; currently a thick, healthy mop that sat slightly matted from sweat. 

Judy, who had been tending a garden bed near the back porch, came over to the group. Her arms were laden with a tray of fledgling potted plants. She tsked, noticing her son’s distraction. “Oh, Sammy, stop playing with your hair. You look  _ fine _ .”

“I wasn’t — ”

“Honestly, ever since you started dating Mikaela you’ve been fretting about your looks.” The tray was placed on the ground beside a large planter that sat prepared and waiting just off the garage entrance. Judy clapped her hands together, freeing the dirt that clung to her skin, and turned to face everyone; face split in a happy smile from being in her element. “So, what are you boys talking about?”

“This boy” — Ron jerked his head in Sam’s direction — “is actually fretting over male pattern baldness. Your mom is right though,” he cast a critical look at his son, “you  _ have _ been primping more than usual if your daily shower time is any indication.” 

Sam ignored the observation, choosing instead to respond to his mother. “We  _ were _ talking about Dad teaching Bee his coveted top-dressing formula. Apparently Bee finds it ‘interesting’.”

“Oh really?” Judy grinned up at Bee. “Why’s that?”

The question was honest and Bee shifted in his spot . “Most of Cybertron’s native plant species have been eradicated over the course of the war,” he said, giving a brief shrug. “I guess I’ve always been interested in planets rich with plant-life because of it.”

Judy’s hand went up to her mouth as her eyes widened. “You don’t have any plants on your world?” 

“None like this.” Bee waved toward the expansive beds that lined the yard. Colorful blooms spilled delicately over thick foliage of varying shapes and shades; the visuals aesthetically pleasing to his optics. “The few remaining are highly invasive and predatory.”

“That sounds terrible.”

Ron grunted and nodded in his agreement while Sam remained the silent observer, mouth set in a thin slash of a line. 

Bee whirred. “It is, or rather, was I guess. After so many years, I’ve gotten used to how things are on my plan — er — ” he cut off as Judy abruptly walked away, back toward the house. He gave a questioning look to Sam and Ron but they too shared his curious expression. 

After a moment, Judy came back with a simple clay pot cupped between her hands. Tender spindles of yellow peaked above the rim and as she got closer Bee was able to make out the tiny plant nestled in a bed of black soil. Judy extended her arms, offering the Earthian life-form to him.

“This is for you,” Judy said as he gently grasped the pot between two fingers. “Lemon coral sedum, one of my favorites to grow. It’s just such a happy little plant with its bright color and leaves that look sharp but are oh-so-soft. I find it brightens my gardens and day whenever I see it.”

Coming over to Bee’s side, Sam’s brow furrowed as he inspected the plant. “I thought tulips were your favorite,” he said as he grabbed a second spade that hung just within the cool shaded garage interior. He rejoined his father and started shoveling the top-dressing onto nearby dirt patches at Ron’s direction.

“Those are her favorite  _ cut _ flowers,” Ron corrected, earning himself an approving wink from his wife. The smug look he tossed Sam was met with a snort. 

“Now, I know it’s not a plant from your world,” Judy continued, “but maybe you’ll find some comfort in it. And there’s truly something amazing about watching things grow from practically nothing.”

Bee nodded, bringing the plant close to his chassis; the message in the statement subtle but powerful. “Thank you for this,” he said.

“No problem, hun. I’ll teach you how to take care of it later, okay?” Judy cast him a radiant smile before heading over to the fountain to gather up the basket and shears that lay at its base. 

As she resumed her work, Bee turned his attention to his new possession and lifted a spindle with one fingertip. The yellow buds sat light against the dull metal-grey of the digit and he whirred, trying to remember the last time he had been gifted something that wasn’t either a weapon or upgrade. Unsurprisingly, nothing came to mind easily.

_ Cybertron lies in waste. We’re marooned on an alien world. Only a handful of us left. Yet here I am disappointed over a lack of materialistic possessions.  _ The spindle dropped.  _ How pathetic am I?  _

Words drifted up from below.

“You know, if you talk to it, it’ll grow faster.” 

Bee glanced to Sam, who was regarding him with an amused expression. 

Antennae lifting slightly over his helm, blue optics darting between the boy and the plant, Bee’s voice betrayed his surprise. “Really?”

There came a soft chuckle and Sam threw another spadeful of top-dressing on a particularly large earthen scar. “Nah, man. I’m just messing with you.” The blade slid over the mound, patting it smooth and Sam straightened to swipe at his brow again. “I just wanted to pull you out of whatever funk you were starting to get into.”

“Funk?”

“Yeah. Down. Depressed. Looking like someone just kicked your puppy?” 

Bee clicked. “That was making sense up until the dog part.”

Sam scoffed. “Hurting a puppy is like the saddest thing in the world! How does that  _ not _ make sense?” 

When all he got was a skeptical look, he continued, waving a hand in the air. “Fine, fine. What do you Cybertronians say?”

“Stuck in the pits.”

“Stuck in the pits,” Sam echoed. “What are the pits?”

Bee thought briefly, scanning through a few internet sources. “I believe the closest analogy would be the human concept of Hell.” 

“Oh, well then you looked like you were stuck in a much,  _ much _ , milder version of the pits,” Sam said, tipping his chin toward the plant Bee held. “And I don’t think it was the effect mom was hoping for when she gave you that. Where did you go just now anyway?”

Huffing his vents, Bee shook his head. “Just lost in old memories. Nothing to worry about.”

“Alright,” Sam said slowly, rolling the spade’s wooden handle in his grasp. “All the same, I say after we’re done here we head on out for a little fun. We could drive to the coast for a change of scenery if you want.”

The thought of salt-tinged winds and rolling sand dunes did sound rather pleasant to Bee.

It was Ron, however, who agreed first. “Hey, that’s a good idea,” he said as he straightened up from a hunched position over his shovel. “We’re out of eggs. You can pick some cartons up on the way home and swing by that Hawkin’s joint on fifth. We’ll have their burgers for dinner.”

“Make sure to get onion rings!” Judy chimed in, her eyes lighting up at the mention of the oily battered vegetable. 

“Since when did my free time turn into errand opportunities?” Sam sank back on one leg, head cocked in challenge.

“From the moment you exited your mother’s womb until the moment you stop residing under our roof,” Ron shot back with a grin, not rising to the bait.

The boy sputtered, unrelenting. “Well, we may not be back until later. Eating a fatty meal right before bed isn’t too healthy you know.”

Ron stretched, a soft crack from his back yielding a satisfied grunt. “I like my dinner at seven, thank you very much.”

“I dunno, Pops. Extenuating circumstances and stuff.”

“He’ll be home at seven.” Ron looked at Bee.

“Seven it is,” Bee agreed, earning a snort from the teen.

“Dude, you’re supposed to back me up.”   
  
Bee shrugged apologetically. “Sorry but, you know, I  _ do _ live in your parent’s garage.”

“I can’t wait until I get my own place,” Sam mumbled, leaning heavily against the spade. 

Judy, returning to her son’s side, slipped several bills into his hand and planted a sudden kiss against the damp skin above one brow. “Hopefully not for a while, my little baby boy,” she cooed.

Ducking away from the motherly administrations, Sam whined high in his throat. “M-om, stop embarrassing me in front of the Autobot.” 

Bee laughed and Judy waved off Sam’s worries.

“Part of my job as your loving mother,” she stated and she was able to ruffle his hair before he got out of reach. 

Sam threaded his fingers through the disturbed strands. “Spent all morning on this…”

Judy moved to Ron, who beckoned with a lazy grin, and entwined her arms around his neck, pressing a kiss against his lips; the pair ignoring the emphasized retching sounds coming from their son.

“A loving mother  _ and  _ a sexy wife.” Ron gave her a squeeze. A happy squeal bubbled up in her throat as she turned to walk away only to receive a light tap on the backside.

Bee tilted his head, the human affections curious and strange, while Sam had his pressed against his palms.

“Oh god…” the teen muttered. “If this continues, we’re heading out ahead of schedule.”

“You aren’t stepping a foot outside this yard until that top-dressing is spread,” Ron corrected. “And don’t you roll your eyes at me.”

Caught, Sam threw his hands in the air in defeat. “Okay, okay. Just… keep the PDA’s to a minimum.”

“Oh you are so uptight,” Judy tsked with a shake of her head only to turn when a loud ringing of the phone came from the handset, which sat neatly on the garden table nearby. She went to answer while Sam continued to grumble low to himself between the soft whumps of shovelfuls hitting the ground.

“I’m not uptight…” 

Bee went to counter him; goad him a little. Not enough to irritate but enough to keep the boy engaged as time always seemed to go by faster when involved in a spirited conversation.

The words, however, never materialized.

Bee wasn’t exactly sure what made him hesitate or why his attention was suddenly drawn away from the boy to focus on Judy.

She remained where she had been prior, phone receiver pressed against her ear as she listened to the caller on the other side. The smile she bore was the same happy expression she’d worn all day yet now it was different somehow, changing in the fraction of a second it had taken for Bee to divert his gaze from Sam. A smile that was now tight and still over the white of bared teeth. 

As he watched, time seemed to slow and descend into something unsettling as Judy’s brows drew together and the skin between them creased. Blue eyes grew brighter from pupils that constricted into pinpoint drops; black pits compared to a face that grew ghostly pale.

To Bee’s horror, the smile disappeared, replaced by an open mouth and a wail that surged its way out from between her lips.

“Judy!”

“Mom!”

Ron and Sam ran to her upon hearing her cries, reaching her as she fell to her knees and crumpled on the ground. Her hand covered her mouth as she screamed and tears spilled from eyes that were squeezed shut.

Bee was on his feet in an instance, right digits flexing and ready to change into his plasma cannon. He scanned the yard, seeking a source of danger, but finding none.

The phone lay on the ground, having slipped from Judy’s grasp as she collapsed, and Bee’s optics trained on it. Whatever the issue, it was happening outside their vicinity. 

Sam hovered over his mother, his voice cracking with repeated demands to know what was wrong, while Ron dropped beside her and gathered her in the circle of his arms. 

Judy clung to her husband, her fingers gripping white-knuckled into the cloth of his shirt and face pressed against the nook of his shoulder. Her cries became muffled but her shoulders continued to shake, giving away their intensity. 

“Judy, honey. Judy, baby. Tell me what’s going on,” Ron pleaded against the veil of her hair but his words failed to elicit a response between the heaving, hiccuping sobs.

He grabbed for the phone and cradled it against his free shoulder. “Hello, hello? This is Ron Witwicky. Who is this? What — ”

Bee remained still as Ron paused in his questioning, the voice on the other end filling Ron’s ear with the knowledge he sought. A voice too quiet for Bee to hear even with audio sensitivity at its maximum. 

Whatever the news was, whatever the voice was repeating to the new listener, it was bad. 

Ron’s lips pressed together in a tight line, posture growing rigid, and Sam looked on helplessly; the pained expression his father wore unsettling on a man usually quick to dismiss personal discomfort.

The boy caught Bee’s gaze, seeking assistance, but all Bee could do was regard him with sympathy; at a loss in his own understanding of the situation.

Abruptly, the phone conversation ended, Ron thanking the caller in a rough voice. The phone was shoved into a pocket and Ron pressed a firm kiss on top of Judy’s head.

“I’m so, so sorry sweetie,” he said, the words choked and raw. 

Her cries dissolved into whimpers against his torso and Ron tightened his hold.

“Sam,” Ron nodded toward the house, “help me get your mother inside.”

“A-alright,” Sam replied, reaching out with gentle hands to lift his mother to her feet. 

Face now exposed, Judy looked hollow as if all strength had abandoned her. Pallor dominated her skin except for a rim of red around sunken eyes; a stark difference from a normally smooth sun-touched complexion. There was no recognition in her gaze as it ran fleetingly over the yard. Her mind was elsewhere, wrapped up in terrible things. 

“Bee?”

The Autobot looked to his charge and understood the unspoken request in Sam’s tone.

He nodded and as Sam and Ron guided Judy inside, Bee retreated to his own private sanctuary; ensuring the wide garage door slid down into place behind him, keeping him from the world’s view. 

The garage interior was cool and welcoming and the thick padded floor comfortable against his parts as he adjusted himself into a sitting position near the back wall. Feeling something in his left hand, he relaxed his grip and realized the tiny potted plant still lay nestled within his palm. Thankfully his sensors had kept him from crushing the fragile thing, although some of the dirt had spilled over the rim and trickled down between his plates.

Bee shifted and carefully placed the plant on a windowsill that spilled warm sunlight into the interior. 

Tension tightened his joints as thoughts drifted back to Judy’s kindness and to the suffering she was now enduring. A growl escaped low in his throat at his inability to help resolve the source of her distress. 

_Primus, how could I help? I don’t even know what_ _happened,_ Bee thought with a huff of his vents. _Perhaps though if i did, then I wouldn’t be as useless as I am right now…_

The idea to tap into the Witwicky’s telecommunication service was dismissed as fast as it formed, however, as a surge of guilt prickled its way across his spark. Invading the family’s privacy wouldn’t win him any favors and potentially ruin the tentative trust he held with Sam’s parents should they find out.

No, he couldn’t do that.

Frustrated and at a standstill, Bee sank against the wall, all that was left was to wait for Sam to return with an update.

That was if Sam placed enough value in their friendship to include him in private family affairs...

With a sigh, Bee watched the door.

 

0-0-0-0-0

 

Long shadows from the sinking sun were beginning to slither their way into the garage by the time there came a light knock at the side entrance.

The door creaked open and Sam appeared, keeping his face downcast as he crossed over to a workbench on the far side. Leaning against its study wooden brace, Sam ran a hand through his hair, a slight tremor to the movements. 

Bee’s door-wings drooped on noticing the boy’s bloodshot eyes, which revealed that Sam too had been crying. 

“Hey,” Sam began, looking as if he was about to say more but then letting it fall away. He cleared his throat, scratching the side of his neck lightly.

Sensing gentle probing was needed, Bee whirred. “How’s your mother?” he asked in a soft tone, hoping it would spur more than a closed-ended response.

Sam’s head shook side to side. “Not good. Dad’s with her but she’s still a mess. A total mess. But it makes sense though, you know? When you consider she… I mean she lost…” Again he trailed off, his brows pinched together as he stared at his feet. 

Bee remained quiet, patiently waiting for the boy to collect his thoughts. 

“My mom’s sister, my aunt, was at a convenience store. It was robbed and the guy had a gun and he… he panicked.” Sam sniffed and looked up at Bee. “She died. He shot and killed her, fucking  _ killed  _ her. My mom lost her sister all over few handfuls of cash.”

“Sam, I’m so sorry…”

“It’s fucked up, Bee,” Sam blurted out. “How people treat each other. And you know what the worst of it is?” A strangled laugh erupted from his mouth. “You, the Autobots… you all  _ just _ risked your lives to save us, our world, from the Decepticons. You stopped them and saved us and yet we continue to hurt each other over the littlest fucking thing!”

Sam began to pace back and forth and Bee followed his movements, his spark aching with sympathy. 

“That’s what makes this so fucked up,” he repeated. “It just doesn’t make sense why people had to die protecting us. Why Jazz had to die protecting us…”

Bee held a hand in front of the boy, halting Sam’s pacing and earning his focus.

“Sam… Jazz was a soldier. The men under Lennox’s command were soldiers. Soldiers know of the risks going into battle. Of what sacrifices they may have to make in the line of duty.”

“I know,” Sam choked. “But was everything that happened even worth it? Was Jazz’s sacrifice worth it, when humans treat each other like this? Would you still have done what you did if you knew this before?”

  
“I  _ did _ know, Sam,” Bee said as gently as possible. “Remember, I’ve been on this world for a few years now. I’ve seen the bad side of humanity first hand but I’ve also seen the good.” 

Bee shifted in his spot, thinking of the best way possible to explain to the boy that what he was feeling, the torment that was eating away at him, was guilt. “You can’t take what happened to your aunt as a condemnation of your species. Her death was a tragedy, as civilian death always is, and I’ve found that tragedies don’t always come with meaning.” He shook his head. “And trying to seek out one where one doesn’t exist just brings more confusion and pain.”

“Then what should I do?” Sam whispered dry and hoarse. 

“Mourn your aunt,” Bee said with deep sincerity. “Find comfort and strength in those around you and offer support in return to your loved ones who are also feeling her loss.”

Sam stood quietly for several moments before nodding slow and even. “I… understand. And I will,” he agreed.

Glad his advice had been given some thought and hopeful it would be of assistance, Bee hummed soft and the sound drew Sam’s gaze upward, his eyes seeking Bee’s face and a sudden understanding spilling from his lips.

“You’re mourning Jazz.”

Bee gave pause this time, his brow plates drawing together as memories surfaced.

“Yes, I am,” he replied with great measure.

 “What about your supports? You’re away from the others. How are you managing it?”

Sam’s concern was touching and Bee smiled at his charge. “Fairly well or at least as well as can be expected given the circumstances. I tend to find great solace in friendships, new and old.”

“So... we’re leaning on each other then.” Sam managed a lighter tone and although his eyes remained sad, the tug to the corners of his mouth was reassuring. “I just hope I can hold you up, seeing how you’re quite a bit taller than me.”

Bee gave a short trill. “You’d be surprised how little size comes into play in matters of importance. But… in all honesty, Sam, I’m here for you and your family should you need me.”

“I know, buddy. And thanks for that. It means a lot.”

Sam glanced back, toward the direction of the house and his brows lifted as if suddenly remembering something.

“By the way, there’s something I need to ask of you.”

“Ask away,” Bee said.

“The funeral for my aunt, it’s in the next few days in Meaford, Oregon, which is about a ten hour drive from here. We’re leaving tomorrow.”

“I can drive you there if you need.”

Sam shook his head. “No, but thanks for offering. We did talk about it though but my mom felt it would be too much intrusion to ask you to do that.”

“Alright, then what would you like me to do?”

“My parents were wondering if you would be able to watch the house while we’re gone. I know babysitting our place isn’t part of the guardian gig, but my mom especially would really appreciate it. Give her peace of mind and such as she tends to worry whenever she’s away from home for too long.”

Bee gave it a moment’s consideration before nodding. “You can count on me.”

“Thanks, man.” Sam stepped forward and gave one of Bee’s arm plates a pat. “I’m going to head inside. I’ll let my parents know.”

They bid each other goodnight and Sam disappeared through the door. Bee listened as soft footsteps padded and faded away. 

Seeing how the rest of his night was free, Bee turned on the television and lay back, adjusting until he found a comforting position on the floor. An episode of Futurama, part way through, appeared on the screen and although Bee personally loved the series, his interest, however, was minimal at best tonight.

He signed, turning his gaze instead to the rafters above and allowed the program to drone on in the background. 

His conversation with Sam replayed in his head and his spark went out to the Witwicky family. 

Bee wondered if there was something more he could be doing for them but in all honesty he wasn’t quite sure the finer points on human grief. The loss of a close individual tended to play out the same across species, but each culture had their own traditions and nuances. 

Rather than research the answers himself, he sent a quick request to Ratchet, knowing the medic would be more than happy to supply him with detailed information on human behavior. 

The results would be overly clinical — they always were — but at least he wouldn’t have to worry about thoroughness. 

After checking to ensure the security sensors were running at optimal capacity, Bee rolled to his side, his helm cushioned in the crook of one arm and optics closing, as he allowed himself to retreat into stasis.

He didn’t run the visual component of the program but rather chose to remain a disembodied presence in the dark; his consciousness lingering between the obscure line of awareness and oblivion.

And it was in that state where memories crept in from the fringes.

Memories of a silver warrior with an infectious laugh and kind presence. 

Memories of another lost to the void.

 

0-0-0-0-0

 

The bulky green mini-van pulled out from the driveway, its driver pressing the horn once in farewell.

Bumblebee raised a hand, waving, and the van disappeared around the bend in the house.

“You really should be going with them. Too many Decepticons remain out there who know of this family’s involvement with the AllSpark.”

“I’m well aware of that, Corporal,” Bee replied, the words coming out a bit harsher than he’d meant. He sighed and looked to his companion who stood stiffly beside him. “I’m sorry, Mathews. I know you’re just doing your job, making sure I do mine…”

Brushing a wayward strand of hair from her brow, Mathews regarded him with the same calculated look as always and Bee briefly wondered which exactly of them was the more mechanical one.

“Your apology is unnecessary. I was merely stating an observation and a fact,” Mathews said. Her arms crossed in front of her breasts, one finger tapping against the skin just below the cut-off of her short sleeved shirt. “Our asses will be the ones on the line, however, should anything go wrong.”

_ I’m aware of that as well, probably even more-so than the first point _ , Bee thought, holding back a grimace.

“But seeing as Lennox put you in charge of the operation,” she continued, “I’ll trust you made the correct decision and it won’t come to that.”

“It was,” he reassured with a confidence that sounded fine when spoken aloud but still tugged with worry in the back of his head. “They needed me to remain here and I’ll honor their request. Besides, Sam knows I’ll be monitoring the phones in the house; all he needs to do is call in the event of an emergency and I’ll bring the wrath of Primus down on the unfortunate soul who threatened my charge.”

Mathews cocked a brow. “You know, this is the first time you’ve actually sounded like you’re in the military. Usually you’re all jokes and pop culture references and good-natured conversation. An… easy-going personality.”

Bee faced her way. “You make that sound as if it’s a bad thing.”

“Well no. Just not military.”

It was his turn to cross his arms, head tilting in curiosity. “Who then would fit your definition of ‘military’?”

“Ironhide.”

This brought out a laugh from him.

“I should have guessed that one…” He shook his head. “And honestly, I can be just as ‘military’ as Ironhide. Don’t let this handsome face and amazing disposition fool you,” he said, gesturing to himself.

“As I said,” Mathews retorted, “all jokes.”

“Ouch!” Bee exclaimed, placing a hand over his spark. “You’re certainly not pulling any punches today, are you?”

She shrugged. “I see an easy target, I take my shot, Scout.”

Bee let loose a low groan. “I think I’m going to stop talking now, I’m not sure how much more I can take this early in the morning.”

“Always a time for firsts,” Mathews replied.

As she turned to leave Bee caught sight of the upturned corners of her mouth.

“Time for firsts is right,” he called out. “You’re smiling!”

Mathews continued walking away but her head turned slightly. “No I’m not! Undercover as a civilian is just making me soft!” she shouted back over one shoulder.

Bee watched her go, chuckling to himself before turning to the house and reviewing his plan for the next few days.

Keeping himself busy would be the best way to pass the time and keep him from dwelling on the negative what-ifs that would plague his mind if left unchecked.

Determined, Bee headed toward the house, formulating a list of things that needed to be done in the Witwicky’s absence.

“Okay, Mojo, you’re up first.”


	12. Grace

Shadows dulled the old sunroom in hues of grey as the bleakness from the cloud-ladened sky bled through the windows. Heavy droplets struck the glass, the usual pleasing sound of their irregular tempo doing little to lull their listener.

Two stiff wicker couches decorated the space and a lone individual huddled at the end of the one facing outward, her eyes watching the empty backyard. A throw pillow lay across her lap and she ran her fingertips lightly across the seams, feeling the thick stitching rough against her skin. A cup of tea sat on a low table close by; the brown liquid having cooled long ago, unappetizing and untouched.

Her cheeks felt tight and she briefly rubbed at them with the long sleeve of her shirt before gripping the pillow again as a chill ran through her even though the air wasn’t cool.

Perhaps she’d been sitting too long next to the open windows, exposed to the mist of the rain and occasional breeze that whispered lazily through the black screens. No clock could be seen so she was unsure how much time had passed since she’d found her quiet spot. Be it minutes or hours, both felt unsettling and wrong.

She held the pillow tighter.

There came a distant knocking from within the house followed by a pause and then hushed voices speaking. Floorboards creaked as footsteps approached and she turned to see Mrs. Campana, the homeowner, appear in the doorway.

The older woman looked her way briefly as if checking to ensure she was still there before motioning someone forward.

Alexandria felt her throat constrict and tears well up as a familiar face appeared; one characterized by bright blue eyes and framed in warm reddish-golden waves.

She pushed herself off the couch and closed the gap between them, the visitor’s name spilling from her lips in a warbling voice.

“Aunt Judy,” she cried as she was swept up into waiting arms.

“Oh, Alex, honey.”

Alex pressed her face into the soft curls trailing around Judy’s shoulders, unable to stop the sobs that burst forth. She clung to her aunt, who was a lifeline in a sea of gut-wrenching despair, and the tears that rolled down her cheeks mixed with the strands as she cried against the secure embrace. She could feel her aunt trembling and heard sharp shallow breaths next to her ear and knew Judy wept as well.

It took several long moments for some measure of composure to return and pulling back, Judy ran her thumb across Alex’s cheek, wiping away the salty streaks left behind on pale skin.

Ron appeared from behind his wife and he too was quickly wrapped up in a tight hug. He planted a gentle kiss against Alex’s brow and she heard his voice crack.

“I’m so sorry, kiddo,” he told her, his own eyes watery as they separated.

“I’m glad you guys are here,” Alex managed to choke out, hands wringing in front of her. “You too, Sam.”

Her cousin nodded from his place a few feet behind his parents; sullen and quiet during the greeting. Only once Judy stepped aside did he move forward to give Alex a stiff one-armed hug.

“Hey,” he replied, a bit louder than a whisper. His squeeze was brief and his eyes couldn’t seem to meet hers, instead focusing on the bare wooden floor as he retreated, shoving his hands deep in the pockets of his jeans.

A voice cleared itself from the doorway and they looked to Mrs. Campana, who had silently watched the exchange.

“Can I offer anyone something to drink? Perhaps some tea?” she asked in a heavily accented voice.

Judy nodded. “Yes, thank you. I think we can all use something warm.”

Mrs. Campana ducked her head and returned to the interior of the house.

Judy took a seat on the couch, drawing Alex with her, while Ron and Sam sat opposite to them. Alex cuddled up close to her aunt, a soft whimper escaping as the comforting pressure of an arm rested across her shoulders.

“We should have been here sooner...” Judy murmured, threading her fingers through Alex’s hair.

“Sweetie, we left as soon as we able,” Ron reminded gently.

Judy shook her head. “I could have gotten a flight. Arrived yesterday-”

“It’s okay, Aunt Judy,” Alex mumbled. “Mrs. Campana has been letting me stay here since… since mom.” Tears threatened to spring up again and she captured her lower lip between her teeth trying to keep them at bay.

“Mrs. Campana... she’s the one who called us. Is she a friend of your mother’s?” Ron asked.

“From work.” Alex nodded. “And her son goes to my school. They've been good to us since we moved here.”

As if on cue, Mrs. Campana returned, bearing a tray full of steaming cups and a bowl of homemade tortilla chips. She handed out the refreshments, receiving polite thanks, then turned to Alex.

“The funeral home called earlier. They have some questions. I took a message as I wasn’t sure if you wanted to be interrupted.”

A slip of paper with sprawling cursive was given to Alex and she stared at it with unease. Plans needed to be made, details sorted out, costs to cover.

“I’ve never done this before…” Her hand shook. Everyone was watching and she didn’t know what to do. Where to start.

Judy's hand enclosed hers and Alex lifted her gaze to her aunt.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” Judy said, giving a gentle squeeze. “We’re here. We’ll help you get through this.”

Alex swallowed the lump that had risen in her throat and nodded, allowing the note to be taken from her and passed to Ron, who skimmed it briefly.

Ron gestured to Mrs. Campana and the two of them left the sunroom.  

Relieved somewhat, Alex grabbed her tea and this time she was grateful for the drink. The liquid was still piping hot but the sensation against her tongue helped to cut through some of the numbness.

Sam and Judy followed suit, Sam helping himself to the chips although his stiff posture still had yet to lessen and he appeared out of place amid the two women.

“How have your studies been?” Judy asked tentatively, choosing a subject of conversation that seemed appropriately distracting for the context in which it would be discussed.

“Alright, I guess.” Alex replied, eyeing the tortillas but deciding against reaching for one. Her stomach was leadened as it was and the snack wouldn’t do her any favors. Rather, she crossed her arms over her abdomen and leaned back, running her thumb along the foremost scar near her wrist, trying to think back to what had been happening recently in school. “I’ve been getting better grades this year so far… Kept me from having to do remedial math.”

“Well that’s good news.” Judy smiled, giving a supportive pat to Alex’s thigh. “Sammy’s been doing well also, haven’t you, sweetie?”

Caught with a mouthful of tortillas, Sam blinked wide and chewed hastily in order to respond. “Um, yeah. Pretty good here.”

“He’s planning on doing his SATs this spring,” Judy continued. “Getting prepared for college and… which ones were you looking at again?”

Sam shrugged. “I haven’t really decided where I’ll apply. Maybe Boston or John Hopkins. Something in the East.”

“And get out of California, huh?” Alex asked.

“Yeah. Just… something different.” Sam refrained from meeting his mother’s briefly pained gaze.

The tension in the room didn’t need to rise further so Alex cleared her throat. “I was thinking about going to college too.”

This earned an approving hum from Judy. “Oh? Are you wanting to do something in art? Your mother was always telling me about the pictures you drew.”

“Er — no. Those are just — art is just a hobby.” Alex shook her head, trying not to focus on the use of her mother in the past-tense. “I was planning on taking history. Maybe teach afterward.”

“Teaching is a very admirable career,” Judy acknowledged softly.

Alex nodded, giving her a tight smile and, unable to contribute anything more meaningful to the table, silence once again descended over the three; glaring and awkward.

Not giving up, however, Judy changed subjects. “Oh, Sam has a girlfriend now.”

A red tinge crawled up Sam’s neck and he tried to appear interested in the dwindling bowl of chips. The corners of Alex’s lips quirked briefly at his embarrassment and her aunt’s not-very-discreet excitement regarding this bit of information.

“Sammy, show her some pictures. She’s a very nice girl,” Judy added to Alex.

Her cousin took out a phone from the recesses of his jeans and began looking through its content. At one point his eyebrows shot up and Alex watched as his thumb furiously clicked against the controls. Suspecting he had just come across a picture that wasn't of the sharing kind, she let out a strained chuckle.

“Picture you don’t want your mom to see?” she asked, the teasing remark feeling out of sorts against the dark tone of her mood.

“Hm?” Sam looked up, his eyes moving back and forth between her and Judy with a confused expression that lasted momentarily. “Oh, oh yeah. Sorry.” He coughed. “Just some of the guys being idiots. Ah, here.” He passed the phone to her.

A gorgeous brunette was posed on the screen, leaning up against a wooden fence with dunes of sand and the ocean behind her. Her fingers were threaded through her hair in the attempt to brush it from her face as the long locks blew waywardly in the wind and the smile she wore was carefree and young and solely for the one on the other side of the camera.

"That's a very nice picture," Alex said, staring down at the laughing girl cradled in her hand.

"Her name's Mikaela. We've gone to the same school for a while. Finally got around to asking her out. It’s nothing serious," Sam replied, nonchalantly. He picked up his tea and took a sip then made a face and started spooning in a few mounds of sugar.

Judy leaned over Alex’s shoulder. “Is that Dockweiler beach?”

“Yeah. Mikaela likes the ocean.”

The scenery and name were familiar to Alex and memories began tickling their way up from the recesses of her mind. Memories of a hot sun beating down from above while her mother smeared mounds of lotion across every inch of skin barred by Alex's bathing suit. The fruitless chase of foamy edges of the surf as it rolled and slid across the land before disappearing to rejoin the ocean depths. Ron offering and subsequently being buried in white sand by tiny hands and then bursting free to chase Sam and her down the beach, their shrieks and giggles amusing their mothers who sat and snapped pictures from under the shade of a parasol.

Alex traced one of the dunes with her finger. "We used to go there a lot..."

"Every summer as soon as you kids were out of school you'd be begging to go," Judy said, the wistfulness in her voice a trailing sigh. "That was before you and your mother moved away."

Returning the phone to its owner Alex sat back against the wicker with a defeated huff and sour note. "We shouldn't have left Southgate..."

"Alex, honey, you know your mother wanted to provide you with the best," Judy reminded gently, "and that meant being flexible when it came to relocating for work."

Alex grimaced. Oh she knew alright. She knew exactly the reason behind each move and it wasn't the rose-colored opportunity her aunt's words made it sound like.

"We shouldn't have left," she repeated, feeling words spilling forth before she could stop them; words that were venomous and loathing. "If we hadn't moved because of me, then maybe I wouldn't be here right now burying my mom."

The following silence weighed heavy on the room and from under lowered lashes, Alex could see Sam stricken in his spot, teacup partially raised to his lips.

Judy cleared her throat before addressing her son. "Sam, go see if your father needs some help."

The haste in which he jumped up and left the room was just another glaring hint of how much he wanted to be somewhere else and Alex slouched lower on the couch.

“Alex, you are not — look at me.” Judy grasped Alex’s chin, gently but forcefully getting their gazes to meet. “Listen to me very carefully. You are  _ not  _ responsible for what happened to your mother.”

“I am…” Alex breathed, her body starting to shiver.

“No, you’re  _ not _ .” The hand moved to cup Alex’s cheek. “You have no blame for  _ anything  _ that’s happened. Do you know how much it hurts me when I hear you say things like this. How much it hurt your mother to know that her little girl tortured herself with needless guilt?”

Alex could only shake her head, words failing her. The tears welled and fell again.

“It’s not your fault. Please,  _ please _ , believe me.”

The words were fraught with emotion and the hand against Alex’s face trembled. She leaned into the touch and found enough remnants of her voice to reply just as the fragile barriers she’d tried to enact crumpled all around her.

“Then why does it feel like it is?” she managed to choke out before her grief burst forth, vocalized as hoarse wailing cries that racked her body and radiated deep aching pain down into the core of her being.

Arms gathered her up again, pressing her tightly to warmth and solidity, while a hand stroked over her hair. She felt herself being rocked back and forth and between her choked gasps there came a soft humming, low and melancholic. A tune, familiar and old, formed and brought Alex back to a time when she was still small. When her mother sat beside her in bed at night, singing to lull her into sleep, just as the sisters had heard it from their own mother when they too were young. 

Alex could hear her mother’s voice in her head, singing the lyrics along to Judy’s humming; the hymn of a young boy alone on the brink of his own death, coming to know that he would forever be loved no matter the trials he endured until his final breath. It was haunting in its melody but the message it carried soothing and as the verses went on, Alex’s cries dissolved into hiccuping whimpers, which too soon ebbed.

Alex pulled away feeling her tension draining and being replaced once more by numbness. It wasn’t quite clear which was worse as both emphasized the vacant space within her created by the loss of her mother. With a prolonged sigh, she decided feeling nothing at all was at least less exhausting.

“Am I… is this too fast?” she heard herself ask, meaning to be more specific but having difficulty formulating thoughts into something resembling coherent sentences.

Judy’s questioning look forced her to try again.

“Is it too soon to be having the funeral?” Alex kept her gaze on her lap where her hands were clasped, thumbs circling each other. “I feel like it’s too soon but then I think that if I take too long, it’s like I don’t care enough...”

Her aunt stared out at the backyard for a moment in thought before replying. “I remember when your Grandma Lee passed, it was up to Mary and I to make the funeral arrangements. We held off, wanting to wait as long as we could so that everyone who loved her would have enough notice so they could attend; especially considering many of her friends and family had to come from overseas.”

The name brought to mind the fuzzy image of an elderly woman with fiery hair and prominent laugh lines that hid the clear tubing of an oxygen machine; Alex having only known her grandmother briefly.

“And that was bad? To wait?” Alex asked.

“Not necessarily bad. Our hearts were in the right place but it wasn’t until after the burial that we realized we hadn’t been able to start healing,” Judy explained. She grasped her cup of tea and swirled the liquid, watching the slight ripple play off the china. “In the end we realized Mum would have disapproved in our choice; prolonging our suffering like that.”

“So, I’m doing the right thing then?”

“Honey, you were the most important person in your mother’s life.” Judy’s warm smile was reassuring. “Whatever you feel is best, what makes you the most comfortable, is the right thing to do.”

Alex nodded, a small flicker of confidence quelling some of her fears.

The creak of the floorboards made both women turn and Ron stepped into the sunroom, phone in one hand while the other covered the mouthpiece.

“Sorry if I’m interrupting,” he said in a hushed voice, “but they’re wondering about flower arrangements. Is that something we want prearranged for the service?”

Noticing eyes upon her, Alex spoke up in a voice slightly stronger than before. “Yes. A lot of flowers; orange ones. That’s something I know Mom would have loved.”

Judy stood and offered a hand to Alex. “Then let’s go make sure she has the most beautiful ones we can get.”

Without hesitation, Alex grasped Judy’s hand in hers and followed her family into the house.

 

0-0-0-0-0

 

The rattle of a key in a lock echoed in the empty apartment followed by a creaking door as it was slowly opened. Alex pushed her way in from the stairwell, taking care not to disturb a stack of boxes and newspapers that sat in the tight front hall just beyond the entrance.

Sam waited behind the group a few steps down. 

A dog howled from somewhere nearby and the faint wail of police sirens could be heard in the distance. He thumbed the edge of his wallet, which sat safe and secure in his pocket as his eyes roamed the the dimly lit stairwell with its faded wallpaper and dated metal railing.

On arriving to the apartment complex, he had felt uneasy after taking in the rundown surroundings. It hadn’t helped either when they came upon an older, stick-thin woman lounging on the front steps, barring their way. Her wiry frame was adorned in sun-burnt skin that stretched too tightly over knobby joints; an odd contrast to the overly bagging fit of her clothing. Her stern face, sharp eyes and beakish nose reminded Sam of a predatory bird and he'd shivered as her beady gaze locked with his, lips curving into a toothy smile before she dragged long on the dwindling butt of a cigarette. Alex, however, had greeted the woman by name, whom then in turn responded with the same familiarity; kindness hiding within the depths of a voice that croaked from years of tar and nicotine use.

Shame had mixed with his nervousness then and while he couldn't shake the feeling that his cousin lived in an unsavory part of the city he was disappointed he’d been so judgmental, especially upon hearing Alex speak of her neighbors, calling them “good people”.

He sighed and trudged up behind his parents into the apartment.

The dog howled again.

"Sorry about Rosco," Alex said as Sam shut the door behind them, locking the two deadbolts; He assumed she was talking about the dog. 

“He does this every night. Has a little poodle girlfriend down the street that gets let out at this time. Don't worry, he'll stop soon."

Judy placed her overnight bags on the ground. "That's alright, sweetie. We have our own share of evening noise at home.”

_ Yeah, like aliens landing in our backyard _ , Sam thought, holding back a knowing smile as he relieved the pressure of his backpack from his shoulder.

Alex turned to face them, gesturing at the walls as she did so. "Well, this is it. Our home. It's a bit small but cozy."

She led them into the first room off the hall, which turned out to be the kitchen. Ron went to the circular table that sat in the center and set down the two pizza boxes he'd been carrying next to a dirty bowl and glass. Several more could be seen over the lip of the sink.

Following Sam's gaze, Alex cleared her throat, grabbing up the plates and turning on the water. "Sorry about the mess. I didn't get a chance to clean up..."

Judy took the bowl from Alex and waved her away. "No need to worry about things like that. Besides we're going to be dirtying a few more plates anyway. Now, get a slice of pizza already. You too, Sammy. You kids are probably starving."

Ron huffed a laugh. "Not just the kids. I'm famished.” He flipped open the boxes to release the mouthwatering aroma of cheese and spiced tomato into the air. Sam grabbed a serving as Alex offered him a fresh plate she'd brought down from a cupboard to which he threw a second slice on, the first already have been crammed into his mouth. He thanked her with a nod and muffled grunt.

Chewing happily, Sam hadn't realized how hungry he'd been until now; the tortillas from earlier the only thing he'd eaten since leaving Southgate. Taking notice of the bliss on the faces of everyone else as they got their share made him guess that they too were in the same boat; the pressure to get to Meaford as soon as possible and the stress of the situation having pushed their appetites to the back seat.

Just as he bit into his second piece of the doughy treat, his phone buzzed in his pocket. A quick glance at the screen showed a familiar number and he gave everyone an apologetic look.

"I'm just going to take this. That okay?"

"Of course," Judy replied. "If that's Mikaela, tell her we say hi."

He was already flipping open the phone. "Sure thing."

Ducking back into the hall he moved away from the kitchen for a bit of privacy. "Hey, babe," he greeted, feeling a sense of relief wash over him as her voice came through from the other end.

_ "Hey yourself. How's everything going?" _ she replied, concern in her words.

Sam shrugged even though he knew she couldn't see the gesture. "Alright as can be, I guess," he said with careful measure. 

Finding that he'd paced into the living room of the apartment, he sat down heavily on its overstuffed sofa with a disheartened sigh; running his palm over his face several times then leaning back to close his eyes.

Mikaela waited on her end for him to continue. 

"Been up to anything?" he asked.

_ "I went over to see Bee today. He misses you guys already." _

"He said that?" Sam felt a smile tug at his lips; picturing the bot eagerly awaiting their return.

_ "No, but I could tell. Mojo misses everyone as well. He didn’t want to go back into the house tonight. Likely will be sleeping next to Bee until you return." _ Mikaela sounded amused and Sam felt an ache in his chest as he yearned to see her smile. _ "It is lonely over there, though. All dark and empty,"  _ she continued.

He glanced out the window at the sky that was tinged yellow from city lights; the sun having already set. "You just left? What did you guys do all day?"

_ "Chatted. Watched 'Kung Fu Hustle'." _

Dammit. He'd wanted to see that.

_ "Went to the track..." _ she trailed off; referring to the amateur closed-circuit course on the eastside of the city. Bee and him had been there several times already as it was the only place the Autobot could really build up some speed that didn't attract the attention of the authorities.

Sam cocked a brow feeling there was something more from the lift in her tone at the end. "Oh? How'd that go?"

_ "He let me drive." _

"What?" Sam bolted upright, his jaw falling open. He sputtered. "He never lets me drive there! How’d you manage that?”

_ “It’s all in how you ask, Sam.”  _

He felt as if his eyes would roll out of their sockets. “Riiight,” he drawled, giving a shake of his head. “I can’t tell you how jealous I am right now.”

Autonomous robotic organism or not, Bee’s alternative mode was still a sick muscle car that Sam itched to put through its paces.

Her laughter came through the phone, light and musical.  _ “I know. I’m enjoying it.” _

“Far too much I think.” He chuckled along, settling back against the couch. “And as much as I’m going to torture myself knowing this, I have to ask. What was it like?”

_ “Well, considering I could go at any speed without worrying about crashing, I would have to say it was fucking amazing.” _

“Way to tone it down in consideration of my feelings,” he said.

_ “Is that sarcasm I hear?”  _ Her voice lowered into that teasing, almost sultry tone that made him weak in the knees.

“Mmm,” he replied, tearing off a mouthful of pizza. “You know it.”

_ “Always so sexy.” _

_ Sexy indeed,  _ he thought as he pictured Mikaela in the driver’s seat taking the circuit’s left turns with fierce determination all while wearing a white racing suit. Perhaps it was a little weird, however, since he was picturing her sitting in Bee. Little weird, but sexy.

Mikaela said something else and Sam gave his head a shake. “Sorry, I missed what you said. Noisy neighborhood,” he lied, his little fantasy image of her fading.

_ “I said I missed you.” _

“Oh really?” A giddy grin spread across his face before he could stop it. “Maybe I should leave more often then.”

_ “Don’t you dare,”  _ she warned; the amusement in her voice giving away the empty threat.

“Alright, alright. Don’t worry.” He dismissed the notion. “And Mikaela?”

_ “Yeah?” _

“I miss you too.”

Her content hum came through the receiver.  _ “Have a good night, Sam. I’ll see you when you get back.” _

“Can’t wait,” he promised. “Oh and everyone says hi,” he quickly added.

_ “Tell them I say hi as well.” _

And then she was gone and Sam let his hand fall to the cushion beside him, staring up at the ceiling while his plate balanced precariously on one knee. 

Only a few more days of arrangements and then one for the funeral until everything would be over. He would be back in Southgate in his own house, with his friends, and where his parents would be back to their old selves; cracking terrible jokes, yelling at him for walking on the grass, and being the overly coddling people they were. Not like the current emotional shells that had taken over where everything out of their mouths was strained and their shoulders remained tense from the heavy burden they were under.

He dragged in a shaky breath trying not to think about it.

Movement out of the corner of his eye caught his gaze and Alex appeared in the entrance to the room, holding a pillow under one arm and blankets under the other.

“Hey. I’m heading to bed now,” she started, moving toward him and holding out the linen. “I’m going to sleep in my mom’s room and your parents will be in mine since it’s a bit bigger. You can have the couch here. Don’t worry, it's more comfortable than it looks.”

“Oh, thanks,” he said, getting up and taking her offering and eyeing the couch. It seemed a little small for him but the blankets were soft and pillow plush enough. There likely wasn’t an alternative option anyway. 

They stood there for several moments, both looking at the floor, the walls; anything that wasn’t each other.

“Well, goodnight,” Alex said softly.

As she turned away, Sam thought of the advice Bumblebee had given him and suddenly he couldn’t let her leave; couldn’t let the night end on this awkward note.

“Alex.”

For a second he worried she wasn’t going to respond and he would be left there staring after her. But then she paused, turning to cast a sidelong look his way. He couldn’t quite decipher what he saw in her eyes just then. Worry? Hopefulness?

He swallowed hard and said what he had to. “Look... Alex, I’m sorry for how I’ve been acting.” Two steps brought him next to her. “It’s just I’m not the best in these sort of situations. I don’t know how to handle seeing my parents this way. It freaks me out and so I’m doing stupid things.”

Her head tilted. “I’m not sure I understand. What stupid things are you talking about?”

“Not being there for you. As family should. Like cousins should…” His mouth set in a grim line as he thought back to his actions earlier that day; how he’d greeted her, how much relief he’d felt on being dismissed by his mother and how soon he realized how pathetic that all was. “I just wanted to let you know that I’m here if you need me.”

It must have been the right thing to say as Alex had her arms around him the next moment holding him tight, face pressed against his shoulder.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

This time, he returned the hug in earnest.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Just a curiosity, prior to this chapter did anyone catch on that there was a high possibility that Sam and Alexandria were related? 
> 
> Alexandria and Mary’s surname is Taylor. Since there’s been no mention of Alex’s father in the story so far, you can assume Taylor is Mary’s maiden name. In chapter eight, “Chase the Sun”, you find out Mary has an older sister, Judith, and as per the Transformers Wiki, Judy Witwicky’s full maiden name is Judith Taylor.


	13. Above Us, Only Sky

The sheets beside him were cold as Ron felt along the area where his wife had fallen asleep the night before. Her absence pierced his dream-hazed mind and he cracked open one eye and then the next to blink at the vacant spot.  

“Mmh, sweetie?” His voice, rough and cracking, sounded loud in the shadowed room and a quick scan along with the answering silence confirmed he was alone. The clock by the bed displayed that it was six in red digital lines, still early, and it was what drove him from his cocoon of warm blankets to fumble and bump his way to the door in search of Judy.

The hall was empty and the apartment quiet with the peace of the morning hours. The kids slumbered on; the crack under Alex’s door was dark and the large lump curled up on the living room couch only moved with quiet, even respirations. Soft incandescent light spilled from the kitchen, illuminating the opposite end of the hall. Ron padded his way toward it and found Judy at the table with a mug between her hands, the rich scent of coffee filling the air.

“Hey,” he said in a hushed voice, shifting one of the chairs so he could sit beside her.

She was slow to respond as if coming out from the depths of a thought. “Oh... hi honey. What are you doing up?”

A kind smile lifted his lips. “I could ask the same of you.”

Rather than reply, Judy’s posture slumped at the question; head dipping low and expression falling.

“Couldn’t sleep, huh?” he said with gentle measure. His fingers slipped between hers, pulling them away from the mug and into his grip. Her palm was warm from where it had touched the ceramic. “I’m surprised you were able to get any rest at all...”

“I didn’t think I would either but I was exhausted. Not that sleep helped much.” She grimaced and rubbed at her brow. “My mind keeps racing. There’s so many things we have to do. I’m already having trouble getting myself going and the day has barely begun.”

“Don’t go shouldering this by yourself,” he said gently. “We’ll get through this together. One task at a time.”

She hummed and brought the cup to her lips.

Ron watched for a moment before the aroma of the brewed grounds spurred him into getting his own. He went to the cupboards, rooting through them for what he needed.

“To the right of the sink.” Judy pointed.   

Following her guidance, Ron found an assortment of mugs and, selecting a fat green one, he poured in the rich brown liquid until it sloshed just below the rim. The coffee was full-flavored and strong, just how he liked it, and the first few mouthfuls were savored before he busied himself by refilling the reservoir to make another pot.

“What’s on the to-do list?” he asked, thinking they could select something small from the itinerary. Completing a simple task could help them find strength to push forward with the rest.

“I need to take a look through Mary’s things for the display after the funeral,” Judy said, gaze in the direction of the master bedroom. “Trinkets. Photos. Any sort of keepsake will do. Items that reflect her life and how amazing she was.”

Ron nodded along, making a mental note to locate some folding tables.

“We still need to select an urn and to decide on what music to play during the funeral. Then there’s the catering. The obituary. The list just goes on and on.” She shook her head. “And we haven’t even touched on the arrangements we need to make for Alex.”

“Such as?”

“Well, we’ll have to get a school transfer. Figure out what she’ll need to bring with her now and what can be sent for later. We need to speak to the landlord regarding the remaining lease on this apartment. Hopefully that can be settled right away but if not, I’m sure something can be worked out.”

Knowing this topic had been coming, Ron took a seat again beside his wife. “So, she’ll be coming to live with us,” he said, not a question but as a matter-of-fact. “Do you think Ethan will object?” It was a cautious probe as Alex’s father tended to be a sore spot of Judy’s.

She shook her head. “He hasn’t played _any_ part in Alex’s life so far so I don’t see him starting now. Besides, it’s been over ten years since Mary was last in contact with him so I’m not even sure how we’d let him know of her death…” She paused for a moment before huffing and taking on a look of determination. “No. Alex belongs with us. We’re her closest family and Southgate was her home once. Now, it’ll be her home again.”

“There _is_ the small matter of the government cover up in our garage,” Ron reminded her, to which he earned a snort from his wife.

“If the government has a problem with _our_ niece moving into _our_ house so she can be loved and nurtured and grow up into a productive young woman whose taxes go toward paying _their_ salaries, then they can kiss my ass.”

The fierce reply would have made him chuckle had it not been for the sadness he could see lingering in Judy’s eyes.

“Also,” she continued, “our house guest will understand. He’s been very supportive of our family so far.”

“Yeah,” Ron agreed, scratching his chin lightly. “He’s a good kid.”

The room grew quiet and Judy busied herself with wiping away the ring her mug had made on the surface of the table. Ron watched her actions, not missing the beginning tremble of her lower lip.

“It’s the right thing to do,” she affirmed, breath beginning to hitch. “This way, Alex can finish school. We can make sure she stays healthy and get her help if she needs it. Make sure she’s cared for… Just as Mary w-would want—”

“Sweetie,” he whispered, moving closer to her as she stumbled over the words. His chest ached, mirroring what he saw playing across her face.  

Blue eyes, swimming in fresh tears, lifted to meet his. “I can’t believe she’s gone,” Judy choked. “That man… he s-stole my baby sister from me.”

And then he was holding her again and willing his strength to be her own, as pain, hot and terrible, left them both shaking in its wake.

 

0-0-0-0-0

 

Sam wiped away the steam obscuring the mirror’s surface and grimaced as an annoying twinge radiated down his neck. His fingers kneaded the tender spot and he gave his head several twists and turns trying to stretch it out with little effect.

He’d woken that morning in an odd predicament. The pillow that cradled his head overnight had somehow been tossed to the floor to lay useless against the carpet, while his neck subsequently became pressed at an unnatural angle against the overstuffed arm of the couch. This left his shoulder pinned in the crevice between the back and the cushions.  

And here he’d been promised it was comfortable…

“Stupid couch,” he muttered, digging through his duffel bag.

A hissed curse slipped past his lips as he came up short, realizing he’d forgotten to pack something as simple as a bottle of Advil.

The twinge came again, its little tendrils of electricity threading rapidly from one muscle to another. Sam’s eyes darted about the bathroom seeking options. The mirror in front of him covered a wall cabinet and a quick feel along its rim revealed a small notch that allowed him to open the front. The cabinet behind contained three glass shelves holding an assortment of hygiene products and, to Sam’s relief, multiple medication bottles of varying sizes.

Turning the bottles this way and that to read the brands scrolled across their labels, Sam selected one advertising fast pain relief and choked down two of the small blue tablets with a handful of water. As he was putting it back in its resting place, his attention was drawn to a cluster of orange containers with white caps, indicative of prescription medications, nestled off to one side. Alex’s name was in bold print across their labels. 

The strong prickle of curiosity was what made his fingers close around a bottle and he brought it close in order to read the smaller text that sat below her name.

_Clozapine._

A slight tilt and shake showed it was half full of round white tablets. He skimmed the rest.  

_Haldol… Trazodone… Lorazepam… Lithium._

Five in total and none holding any sort of familiarity. It seemed a lot of drugs for just one person.

A bang came from the door and Sam jumped from the three heavy knocks that sounded in rapid succession. The bottle tumbled from his hand and bounced off the vanity. He grabbed for it with clumsy fingers, which just sent it spinning out of reach. It struck the wall and dropped to the linoleum where it rolled to a stop at the edge of the shower. By the grace of God, the cap stayed tightly adhered during the flight and the bottle managed to avoid a dunk in the toilet.

“Sam!” His dad bellowed from behind the wood. “You’ve been in there for over an hour! There are _three_ other people in this house and only one bathroom.”

“Yeah, Dad, I’ll be out—” He scrambled to retrieve the bottle and put it back with the others only to almost knock the rest out of place in his haste. “Out soo—I’ll be out soon!”

“Not soon. Now!” Came the irritable reply.

Everything returned the way it was, Sam opened the bathroom door a crack and came face to face with a dark scowl.

“Sixty-three minutes and you’re not even dressed.” Ron scoffed, nodding at Sam’s toweled waist and otherwise bare form.

“It hasn’t been sixty-thr—”

“I counted.” Ron tapped his watch. “You’d better hope there’s still hot water left in the building, buddy-boy.”

Sam snorted and jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Well, can I at least get dressed? Unless you want me walking the halls in just my towel. Two minutes. I just need two minutes and I'll be out.”

His father gave a little shrug and turned his watch upward. “One minute fifty-nine, one minute fifty-eight…”

“Wait, I didn’t mean literally,” Sam huffed.

“One minute fifty-four—yes, literally—one minute fifty-three…”

The door slammed closed and Sam became a blur as he dodged about the bathroom grabbing his stuff, body twisting this way and that as he fought to pull his clothing on over damp skin. He was out just as his father’s meaty fist raised to knock again.

“See, record time,” Sam said in short, winded clips.

“Ah-huh.” Ron brushed past. “Your fly’s open by the way.”

With an exhaled grunt and burning ears Sam quickly tugged the zipper to close his jeans. “Sixty-three minutes my ass—”

“Sixty-five now!” Ron’s muffled correction came through the door.

Realizing the argument was lost, the teen gracefully retreated and padded down the hall toward the kitchen with his hands stuffed deep into his pockets. Maybe he was spending too much time getting ready in the mornings but that didn’t mean he was willing to admit to his parents that they’d been right all along.

He found his mother standing attentively at the stove, spatula in hand and eyes monitoring the bacon that sizzled and snapped in the pan.

“Morning, Mom.” He greeted her with a peck on the cheek as he passed by on the way to the coffee pot. “Breakfast smells great.”

“Morning, hun,” she replied, carefully lifting out the bacon with a fork and setting the strips on white paper towel. “How did you sleep?”

“Pretty good.” It was a lie but he knew she didn’t need to hear him belly-ache about something as trivial as a stiff neck. Not when she had so much else on her plate.  

With a coffee in hand, Sam grabbed for a piece of bacon and hoo-ed and haa-ed as he bounced it about in his palm, trying to keep the hot grease from searing his skin.  

“Really?” Judy raised an unimpressed brow. “I _just_ took that out of the pan.”

The delicious pork morsel quickly disappeared inside his mouth with a satisfied hum. “Totally worth it.”

“Sweetie, you may not care about third-degree burns but _I_ do as your mother. So keep your fingers”—she waved away his second grab at the plate of bacon—“to yourself and go set the table.”

The spatula presented a formidable opponent and, not wanting to be on its receiving end, Sam grudgingly obliged.

It didn’t take all that long for the remaining food to cook but to Sam the wait still edged on agonizing. He was a growing teenage boy after all, which made eating one of the most important necessities in his life; far above breathing and only marginally higher than girls. Thankfully, his dad and Alex showed up just as the stove turned off. He was already seated, utensils at the ready, as the platter of eggs hit the table.  

Alex gave his parents a hug before occupying the chair across from him. He greeted her with a muffled, pancake-filled-mouth “morning”, which was returned as a small smile and nod.

Sam chewed thoughtfully as he watched Alex from his place across from her, unable to help but notice the disheveled state she was in. Her pajamas were heavily creased from sleep and her hair was twisted up loosely into an oversized clip that perched precariously off-center of her head. Several limp, erratic strands framed her face and dark under-eye circles gave a sickly pale tint to the surrounding skin. He could practically feel waves of misery radiating out from her even though her affect remained flat as she stared at the dishes on the table.

Sam glanced at his parents who were busy with their meals. They gave no indication they noticed what he had.

Alex poked the tines of her fork into an egg yolk repeatedly but made no move to actually eat it and, feeling he had to make good on the promise he made last night, Sam tried the first thing that came to mind.

“Uh… bacon?” he asked, offering the crispy plated meat to her.

There came the same smile as before as she accepted two pieces and proceeded to nibble away at them with lack-luster gusto. Dejected for being terrible at consoling, Sam took a piece himself before passing them down to his dad.

Fortunately, his awkwardness was cut short as his mother chose that moment to pipe-up.

“Alex, there is something important that your uncle and I wish to talk to you about,” she began, making sure she had Alex’s attention as well as catching Ron’s eye before continuing, “and it involves a rather large decision on your part.”

Mug partially raised to his lips, Sam paused, casting a curious look at his parents.

“Please know that the last thing we'd want to do is cause _any_ further upheaval to your life, however, given the circumstances, you may have to leave Meaford."

"Okay..." Alex hunched lower in her chair, the meal forgotten in front of her.

A soft smile appeared on his mother's face but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "If you want, we can try reaching out to your father."

Ron shifted in his chair and spoke up. "But I thought—"

Judy raised her hand, her eyes darting his way briefly and, message received, Ron fell into silence.   

Attention back on his cousin, Judy continued. "I'm not sure how much you know about your father, but he's a good man and he and your mother had a very good relationship together for many years. When they grew apart, the decision to separate was mutual and on amicable terms. Also, from what your mother told me, he was very happy whenever she let him know you were doing well."

"I... could be with my dad?"

Sam thought he saw a flicker of pain cross his mother's face but then she nodded and the smile was still there so he just chalked it up to his imagination.

"It's a good possibility," Judy replied. "Now, we've fallen out of touch with him over the years but your uncle and I will do everything in our power to get the two of you connected. _If_ that's what you want of course." She cleared her throat and picked at a tiny piece of toast that lay on the table beside her plate, flicking the crusty flake onto a napkin. "If not, there _is_ the option of living on your own, seeing as you're seventeen. You can apply at the courts for emancipation. It would take a lot of preparation in order for you to be approved but we can help you through that process as well..."

Alex shook her head, mouth set in a grim line. "No... no, I'm not ready to be on my own. I don't want that."

“Alright.” Judy's posture relaxed slightly as she leaned against the table before repeating herself. “Alright. Honestly, I wasn’t too keen on that option myself.”

“Me neither,” Ron said with a chuckle that died as soon as it started.

The laughter, ill-suited as it was, did seem to help dissipate some of the tension in the room, although Alex’s expression remained guarded. Sam swirled his mug and sipped at the remaining liquid that was tepid at best. Beside him, his mother spoke on and he tried to listen with an impartial ear to the planning of a future that nobody asked for.

“I want you to understand that we love you, Alex. No matter what happens, we are here for _you_ .” Judy emphasized. “We’re family. Your family. And that means there _is_ a home for you, with us, in Southgate.”

Sam promptly choked on his coffee.

He sputtered and coughed, fully aware of the glare his dad was aiming his way. Frantically, he waved his hands. “Sorry! Sorry… That went”—he cleared his throat—“down the wrong way there. Anyway, w-what were you saying, Mom?”

“I was trying to say—” Judy waited as Sam coughed several more times before continuing. “That we would love for you to live—”

It was Alex this time who cut her off. “Are you sure?” she blurted out, sitting erect in her chair and appearing the most energized Sam had seen since their arrival.

“Of course, sweetie.” Judy cupped Alex’s cheek. “Nothing is more important than family. We belong together.”

Practically leaping from her seat, Alex grabbed his mother in a tight embrace.

“Do I take that as a yes?” Judy laughed; a wide, hopeful grin splitting her face as her arms wound themselves around Alex.

“Yes, yes!” Alex nodded against Judy’s shoulder and then withdrew to give an enthusiastic hug to Ron.

“We’re more than happy to have you with us, kiddo,” his dad said against the mess of her hair.

When Alex returned to her seat, Sam could see she had started to cry again and it made him feel like the lowest piece of shit on Earth for his off-guard reaction.

Alex twisted her hands in front of her. “I just… I wasn’t sure what was going to happen to me after the funeral. I mean, I did wonder if I could stay with you guys but I didn’t want to assume and I didn’t want to ask in case I overstepped…”

Sam’s silence caught her attention.

“Is this okay with you too, Sam?”

Resisting the urge to shift in his spot under the naked hope in her eyes, he replied, not missing a beat. “Yeah, sure. Of course.” It wasn’t the most convincing statement but it seemed to work, if the relief on Alex’s face was any indication. 

Sam buried himself into his breakfast as his parents began spouting off everything they could do to the house to make Alex feel at home, and as soon as the last bit of egg was shoved into his mouth he excused himself and made a hasty exit to the living room. His phone lay where he’d left it overnight and he flipped it open. The sooner Bumblebee knew about Alex, the sooner they could work on smoothing out the fallout that was bound to happen. Perhaps the Autobot could be the one to break it to Corporal Matthews. Sam grimaced; not wanting to be in that particular line of fire.

The thought made him pause mid-dial. Bee mentioned he’d be monitoring incoming house calls in case trouble somehow found its way to Sam during the trip. What the Scout _hadn’t_ mentioned, however, was if the signal from his cell alone was enough for the bot to hightail it to his location.

Not wanting to chance it, he shut the phone with a loud snap and shoved it into a pocket.

“You know that was pretty smooth of you back there,” spoke a male voice behind him.

Sam spun on his heel, face pinching in a scowl. “Yeah well, that was a hell of a bomb to drop without any warning,” he retorted.

Ron sighed and crossed the room. “You must have known that Alex coming home with us was an option. Honestly, where else would she have gone?” 

Scoffing, Sam threw up his hands. “Um, well maybe with her _dad_?” 

“Keep your voice down,” Ron ordered through clenched teeth, glancing back toward the hall. “The man is a stranger to her. How would _you_ feel having to give up everything, to live with someone who knows nothing about you beyond your name and that you share DNA.”

“It’d only be for what, like a year?” Sam pointed out. “She just needs a place to stay until then and after she can—”

“Can go to college? Get a job? Live on her own?” Ron listed. “I understand that, as a teenager, you think you know everything but guess what? Success in all of those things comes a lot easier when you have someone to help you. When you have _guidance_. And that’s what Alex needs right now. Especially considering what she’s been through.”

“You’re talking about more than just losing Aunt Mary, aren’t you?” Sam asked, having heard bits of Alex’s history from his mother. “You know, I don’t think Alex is as fragile as you make her out to be.”

Ron rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Sam, why you have to be so argumentative about this? I don’t see what the problem is. Why you’re so against it.”

“Did it slip your mind that we were ordered _not_ to tell anyone about him?” Sam hissed under his breath. “Remember? The whole threat of _treason_?”

A dismissive wave was cast in his face.

“It wasn’t as if your mother and I were suddenly going to lose our minds and blurt out everything to her. Do you take us as complete idiots? Wait”—Ron held up a pointed finger— “ _don’t_ answer that.”

“Your words, not mine…”

“Thin ice, buddy.” 

The warning tone was blatant and Sam clenched his jaw shut to stop the further retort that was on the tip of his tongue. 

Ron shook his head, moving toward the hallway. “Alex is living with us, whether you agree with it or not. Your… _car_ will just have to stay the way it is. At least for the meanwhile.”

“That’s not very fair,” Sam muttered under his breath.

“I know, but that’s the way it is,” Ron agreed softly, leaving Sam to stare after him.

 

0-0-0-0-0

 

The day of the funeral came quickly upon them. So wrapped up in the work and preparations, Sam hadn’t even noticed how the time had flown by until he found himself sitting in the front pew of a church, gaze focused on a portrait displayed on the dais before him.

He studied it from his spot and swallowed the lump that continuously rose in his throat as the gentle smiling face of his aunt, captured within the white frame, overlooked the throng of those who came to wish her farewell. Family and friends surrounded him; each dressed in their best somber-hued clothing. They sat in silence, listening to the sermon recited by a pastor who stood in his place behind the pulpit. Occasionally a muffled sob or caught breath pierced the biblical passages and in response, the small man would acknowledge the sounds of grief by clasping his withered hands together while casting empathetic eyes toward the source.

Sam turned briefly to scan the crowd but found he only recognized a select handful of individuals and, even then, they were hard to place. His aunt had touched so many lives since she had left Southgate and he found it inspiring and terrible all at once, for now it was all at an end.

The lump returned; choking and with a foul taste in the back of his throat. It welled and constricted as he looked again at the picture of the woman who had shown him nothing but love and kindness. Every birthday came with a handwritten note and card from her. Every Christmas he received the practical gift of socks that hid a gift card tucked into one of the pair. His aunt cheered for him from the stands at his little league baseball matches, gave congratulations for every school accomplishment, and lavished him with tight hugs and hair ruffles at every visit.

And now she was gone and Sam couldn’t remember if he’d told her he loved her the last time they’d spoken.

He must have made a noise for suddenly his father’s hand was on his arm, squeezing gently. Quickly coughing and swiping at the tears that threatened to fall, Sam nodded in reassurance that he was okay and sat up straighter as the pastor addressed the crowd.

“On today, we desire to honor and remember the life of Mary. When the reality of death sets in and we are in loss of a loved one, one of the ways to work through our hurt and pain is to share stories in remembrance of the person and their positive influence on the lives they touched.” The pastor spread his arms, palms upturned, making the purple vestment around his shoulders sway with the motion. “And so, I now invite the family members of Mary to share their stories with us so we may remember together. Miss Taylor, we would be honored…”

Alex rose from her place beside his mother and took stiff steps toward the pulpit, clutching sheets of paper against her chest. The pastor gave supportive words as she reached his side and then graciously withdrew to his own seat just off to the side of the dais. Quiet moments passed as the speech was laid out and the small microphone adjusted before a deep breath was taken and she began.

“My mother, Mary, was everything to me. A care provider. A guide when I lost my way. An immobile force that I could always depend on. She was my teacher, a leader… my biggest fan.”

Sam smiled at this and several others gave soft chuckles as Alex paused, her own lips upturned in melancholy.

“She was kind and compassionate to everyone she met. Our door was always open and mom in turn always made sure to have homemade cookies available for whoever decided to drop by for a visit. She loved to dance when she thought nobody was looking, blared her 80’s rock collection on the car stereo during long drives, and had the biggest selection of tea that would put even a grocery store to shame.”

More kind laughter including a hitched one from his mother, who nodded in agreement.

“She was the kind of person who would sacrifice everything to make sure her family were happy—that I was happy—and because of this, I did my best to work hard at school, to help with managing the household, and to be good to others. I knew how much she cared about me and I wanted to make sure she was happy in return.”

Alex paused as her eyes skimmed the speech in front of her and Sam could hear the crinkling of the paper, her fingers squeezing at their edges.

“My mom was only 44 when she… when she was suddenly taken from us and it’s _so_ hard to say goodbye. I wish that I had more t-time. I… I wish—”

It was like watching a flower wilt before him as Alex hunched over the pulpit, face in her hands as her cries reached his ears. The crowd echoed in turn with murmurs of sympathy, while Sam bowed his head and silently pleaded for the day to be over. The memories that kept surfacing, the sights and sounds he kept being witness to, was cracking what little composure he had left.

There came the creak of the pew as Judy quickly left her seat to join Alex on the dais where she embraced her and whispered what he felt were words of encouragement in her ear. The small but powerful gesture helped to calm Alex enough that she was able to push through the rest of Mary’s eulogy and, once the last of her fragmented goodbyes to her mother was uttered, Alex allowed Judy to guide her back to her seat.

Sam didn’t miss noticing the streaks in his mother’s makeup. The redness of her eyes. He didn’t miss how his father’s sniffles had become clipped hiccuping sobs. Finally, he didn’t miss how Alex resumed her wails from behind one hand placed over her mouth in an attempt to muffle the sounds. 

He tried to shut it all out but then the pastor was there, guiding them into the lyrics of “Amazing Grace”. It flowed from the surrounding speakers to fill the church with its mournful melody and this time, when Sam felt warmth begin to trail down his cheeks, he gave up the fight and allowed the tears to fall.

 

0-0-0-0-0

 

His piece of chocolate cake teased him from its precarious balance on the flimsy paper plate held in his hand. Dark fudge with whipped vanilla frosting made his tastebuds water but as his stomach still churned in his gut, he couldn’t find the will to take a bite.

Sam blew through his nose in a snort.

“Sweetie?”

Jarred out of his not-so-deep thoughts, he realized his mother had been talking to him. They stood together in the hall rented for the funeral reception, looking over the display his mother had put together in memory of his aunt.

“Sorry, mom.” He grimaced, running a hand through his hair. “You were saying something?”

One slender finger pointed to the album that lay open in front of them. “I asked if you remembered our trip to Six Flags. You were still pretty little so I wouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t.” Judy smiled lovingly down at the photos.

His five-year-old self smiled back from them along with younger versions of his parents, Mary, and Alex. Rides and other scenic areas of the park decorated the backgrounds and Sam could vaguely recall having spent a very long time in a car traveling across the country.

He gave his head a shake. “Not all that much. Was it fun?”

“Oh yes,” Judy replied, voice colored with nostalgia as she turned the page. “The whole trip was really more for us than you kids. It was the first time either of you got to go on a ride and watching your little faces light up and hearing your shrieks of laughter… It was just wonderful.”

A smile pulled at his lips under the glow of parental admiration and, not wanting to appear too keen on hearing about himself, he speared a piece of the cake and shoved it into his mouth. Stomach be damned.

“You two did have a few tantrums, just like all little ones do, but for the majority of the time you both were so well behaved,” she continued, flipping another page and then coming to a stop with a motherly coo. “Oh, and you were quite the nudist that trip. Always showing off your cute little tushie.”

The cake almost lodged in his throat.

There, in large print and full color, was a picture of him, nude as the day he was born with his backside front and center. Pink ice cream dripped down one arm from the cone he held and blades of grass clung to a pair of pale cheeks. The grin he tossed over his shoulder at the camera was one of pure pride.

Sam blinked at it and then down the table to where two girls his age, girls from Alex’s school, were browsing the display. 

“I’m... going to go find Alex,” he told his mother in a voice a little too high for his taste. 

Judy smiled and tugged at the sleeve of his dress shirt; forcing him closer so she could plant a kiss against his cheek. “Okay, sweetie,” she said, running her thumb over the glossy lipstick smear left behind on his burning skin. “I think I saw her over by the entrance.”

A nod and quick “thanks” was all he could muster before walking away on rigid joints. 

He found Alex exactly where his mother had said she would be; sitting alone at a table by the door with her hands in her lap and eyes following the crowd as they mingled around her. Occasionally someone would approach to engage in conversation but it was never too long before they were moving on and she went back to silent observation.

It didn’t sit quite right with him and Sam swung by the buffet before making a beeline to her side. 

“Hey,” he said, kicking a folding chair closer to her and taking a seat. He held out one of the two plates he was carrying. “Cake?” 

Alex regarded him for a moment with a slight tilt to her head. 

“This is the second time you’ve offered me food to make me feel better,” she said, noticing his tight smile and stiff posture. She took the plate from his hand.

“Oh… well yeah,” he replied, stumbling over the words; her knowledge of his motives catching him off-guard. “Just, you know, let me know when it works. I was gonna try tacos next.”

Another curious look was given his way. 

It wasn’t as though it was the most awkward thing he’d said before in his life but the following silence had him pulling at the suddenly tight collar of his shirt. He groaned inwardly, thinking it literally impossible for a single person to be so bad at this and yet… here he was. 

Just as Sam started to rack his brain for anything remotely appropriate to follow his bumbling response, the corners of Alex’s mouth twitched. He watched in utter disbelief as she started to chuckle.  

“That’s okay, Sam,” Alex told him with a grin as she pulled her plate toward her and picked up the tiny plastic fork that lay on its edge. “I happen to like cake.”  

The relief that washed over him felt amazing and his smile returned; wide and natural. He picked up his own fork and scooped up some of his leftover frosting. “I’m glad to hear that,” he said as he accompanied her in the simplicity of enjoying a sweet treat. 

 

0-0-0-0-0

 

The van bounced as it hit a dip in the road and Sam held on tightly as he sat on the edge of his seat. Beside him, Alex remained asleep, undisturbed from the jostling car ride; her upper body leaning against the duffel bags that were stuffed between them. When she didn’t rouse, he let out an exhale he hadn’t been aware he’d been holding and resumed his watchful stare out the window.

Only two more intersections remained between them and their destination. Sam peered out the glass as familiar homes zipped by, faces only partially illuminated by the street lamps, and it wasn’t long until the Vossler Avenue street sign appeared. His father turned the van a sharp left down the darkened road and Sam slid his hand to the release of his seat belt, holding a finger lightly against the buckle.

There was another bounce of the vehicle as it entered the driveway and, as soon as it came to a complete stop near the front door, Sam whipped his belt off and leapt out, running down the driveway that wrapped along the side of the house.

“Hey!” his father called after him. “We have things to unpack!”

Sam skidded to a stop, twisting around to give a quick wave to Ron. “I know, I’ll be right back!” His sneakers smacked against the pavement as he continued and he yelled over his shoulder. “I just gotta check something real quick!”

He had seen Alex sit up in the backseat and he broke into a cold sweat, hoping his parents would keep her occupied and away from the backyard for at least the next few minutes.

The main entrance to the garage was closed but its windows were lit with the flickering glow of a television. Barking sounded as he ran up to the side door and he threw it open to duck inside. The door shut with a heavy thud behind him.

Mojo, already at Sam’s feet, yipped and danced on his hind legs as his tiny front claws dug into Sam’s jeans; the chihuahua begging to be acknowledged. A happy whir came from further inside the garage and Sam turned to face its maker.

“Welcome back,” Bumblebee greeted from where he sat against the far wall. 

“Hey Mo, hey Bee,” Sam replied, a tad breathless. He patted the top of Mojo’s wide head, which seemed to satisfy the pup enough to give one final bark before he trotted back to the bot where he circled about Bee’s large feet.  

Sam could make out a small green ball rolling between two of Bee’s digits. It was held out toward the dog who started to shake from the excited whipping of his tail. Once he knew he had Mojo’s attention, Bee flicked the ball into the air in a gentle arc and it came down to bounce against the padded floor, the chihuahua scampering after it. 

“How was the funeral?” Bee asked as Mojo returned with the prize, dropping the ball so Bee could pick it up again. 

Sam gave his head a shake, suddenly remembering the urgency of his arrival. “I’ll tell you all about it later but right now we have a problem.”

“What is—” Bee cut off suddenly, turning his head toward the garage door, gaze looking off into the distance. No doubt he was picking up the extra body on his sensors.

“My cousin came back with us,” Sam explained. “She’s going to be living here. It was my parent’s idea and I only found out after we got to Meaford. I wanted to call and warn you but…” He trailed off, feeling that his reasoning on why he didn’t alert Bee beforehand wasn’t as strong of an excuse as it was when he first considered it.

Bee quickly rolled the ball along the floor away from him and, as soon as Mojo was out of distance, he transformed into his Camaro form with the familiar series of pulses, rumbles, and clanking of shifting metal. 

“I’m sorry, man.” Sam walked over to the driver’s side as the window rolled down. Mojo, back again with the ball, sat down by the front tire; thin tail sweeping back and forth across the ground.

Bee’s voice came through the radio, a slight static undertone to it. “Does she know about us?”

“No, nothing.” Sam shook his head. “My parents have kept quiet and there’s no way in hell I’m going to be the one to blab everything.”

Bee hummed. “I’ll assume then that Matthews doesn’t know as well.” 

“No,” Sam shuffled his feet, “and I don’t really want to be the one to tell her either.”

“Oh thanks…”

“In my defense, I’ve never seen her angry before but when I picture her angry in my head, it’s scary. And this,” he pointed toward the front of the house, “is going to make her angry. I don’t want to experience that.”

Air whooshed out the vents of the dashboard in what Sam took as a huff.

“And you think _I_ do?” Bee asked.

“Well, I figured that she’d most likely catch me if I ran whereas you can go 200 miles an hour,” he said, a lopsided grin accompanied the light jest as Sam tested Bee’s mood. He hoped the Autobot wasn’t actually mad at him for springing everything last minute. Irritated, sure, but hopefully not mad.

A rumbling whir responded, one that Sam recognized it as amusement, and he thanked his lucky stars.

“I’ll alert Matthews and Optimus,” Bee finally offered, “and you’ll tell Mikaela. She’ll need to be in the loop as well. If anything comes about from this, I’ll let you know. In the meanwhile, keep doing what you’re doing. Not a word about us to your cousin.”

“Done and done,” Sam agreed with a nod. He glanced at the door, knowing he was likely testing the patience of his dad. “I should be getting back. Hey, how about we head out to the course tomorrow. To just hang out and stuff.”

“I’d like that.”

“Alright then.” Sam smiled and patted the hood. “Have a good night, Bee.”

“You too, Sam.”

He scooped up Mojo and as he passed by the television, he paused; the screen showing an old kung-fu flick. “Hey,” he called to Bee, “did you want the TV off?”

“Yes,” the bot answered, his voice barely heard above a soft hum, almost a whine, from the engine. “It doesn’t make much sense to keep it on, anyway.”

The reply made him grimace and he felt guilt worming its way through his gut. Reluctantly he pressed the power button. The garage descended into silence that normally would have been peaceful but now all it seemed to do was emphasize a sense of emptiness. 

Sam’s voice echoed in the dark as he opened the door. “We’ll have a good time tomorrow, you’ll see,” he said, casting Bee one last look.

The Camaro sat silent and still where he’d left it, the window now closed. Gone was any indication that moments before, the room had been lively and warm.

That was, until he had intruded.

And now, all that remained, was just a car. 


	14. Ether

The room was cluttered.

Alex’s eyes roamed over its contents from her fetal position under the covers of the daybed. A generous mix of fabric and sewing supplies had been shoved haphazardly into the corners; all moved from their original resting place to make way for boxes and plastic bags brought up the night before by tired bodies feeling the toll of an eleven hour drive. Every free surface now a resting place for her belongings.

Judy’s voice echoed in her head with kind reassurances that the room would soon come together to form a space of her own. 

Alex pulled the blanket higher around her, trying to smother the doubt needling its way in.

It was going to be a hell of a long road ahead. 

Drawing out a groan, she heaved herself out of the protective cocoon that had hidden her away while the morning hours dissolved into the noon. The bed creaked as she shifted, reaching down to grab the purse that lay on the floor. Inside it orange containers with white caps were waiting for her. Two pills in the morning to abolish residual dreams. One in the afternoon to smother her nerves. Two at bedtime to quell the voices at night. A routine of hers for the past two years ever since her psychiatrist—now ex-psychiatrist she supposed—changed her medications. When sounds and images had started to run rampant again and everything she’d worked hard for started to take a nasty downward spiral. 

She grabbed what she needed and the capsule and tablet were easily swallowed without water. 

Years of practice to thank for that. 

With the first task of the day under her belt, Alex rose, a high-pitched whine sounding from the back of her throat as she stretched out stiff muscles. The nippy dryness of conditioned air prickled along the exposed skin of her extremities and she knew it was already hot even without setting foot outside. She shuffled over to a large box by the door, the one containing some of her clothing, and searched through its contents. Several items were selected in what she hoped resembled an outfit.  

A mirror hung on the door and Alex checked out the girl staring back at her. Her reflection wasn’t necessarily kind but at least she appeared semi-human and partially functional, even though there was her questionable ability to dress for the weather. The long sleeves of her shirt appropriately covered her scars but the heavy material really wasn’t the best fit for the mid-twenties temperature of California’s fall months. Hopefully, the pair of shorts she paired it with would offset some of the heat. 

Alex snorted at her image and figured it was the best she could do until a shopping trip was arranged.

She headed out into the hall, observing the house she was familiar with as she went.

It hadn’t really changed all that much since her last visit, except for a few new pictures and a different shade of paint on the walls. Her fingers traced the frames as she made her way to the washroom to put on the face that would be presented to her family. They could be heard downstairs, moving about and chatting, and there was both hesitation and eagerness battling in her chest at the thought of joining them.

Concealer did its part well in hiding the telltale blemishes of fatigue and teenagehood under its matte texture and a few swipes of mascara brightened her eyes. With the tangled mass of her hair tamed into a loose braid, she took the stairs with the lightest step she could, inhaled a deep breath, and entered the kitchen with a smile.

“Good morning,” she greeted, making sure not to hover awkwardly in the doorway.

Judy leaned against one of the counters sipping a tall glass of pink liquid, while Ron nosed through a newspaper at the table. Alex didn’t see Sam but she could hear a television on down the hall.

“I hope it was okay that I slept in for a bit.” She fidgeted with the long sleeves of her shirt. “I didn’t mean to miss breakfast.”

“Oh pish-posh, of course it was.” Judy smiled. The glass was held high. “Are you hungry? I can make you a smoothie. Or if strawberry-banana isn’t your thing, I could whip you up a sandwich as I have a bunch of cold-cuts and cheese in the fridge. Sorry, lunch around here tends to be an informal thing. Grab and go if you must.”

“No, it’s okay, Aunt Judy. Something simple will do. Maybe cereal if you have it?”

This elicited a laugh from her aunt, who opened a tall kitchen cabinet. Boxes upon boxes of different cereal brands were stacked inside. 

“Oodles. With Sammy in the house you’ll find I tend to buy in bulk.”

“I’ll say,” Alex replied, selecting one and giving it a shake. It must have weighed close to five pounds. “This is the biggest box of Cheerios I’ve ever seen…”

Judy nodded and passed her a bowl and spoon. “And it’ll be gone within the week. I swear that boy has a black hole for a stomach.”

“He’s just growing,” Ron spoke up from behind his paper. “I was like that when I was his age.”

“I don’t know…” Judy said, a coy expression playing across her face as she strode over to him to nuzzle the top of his head. “You can still put away a steak like nobody’s business. Maybe he got some of those ravenous genes of yours, my insatiable man.”

Alex hid a smile, busying herself at the counter while Judy and Ron exchanged coos of adoration. It was endearing that even with all of the years of marriage behind them, they still found pleasure in each other’s company. Her thoughts drifted to her own parents and Judy’s recollection of a happy relationship before things changed between them. She tried to picture them together but the images that formed didn’t hold. They slipped through her mind as if she were grasping at water; nothing more than someone resembling her mother in the arms of a faceless shadow.

The Cheerios in her bowl started to lose their definition and Alex snapped out of her musings to realize she’d spooned on a not-so-healthy layer of sugar. Signing, she shrugged off the nagging feeling that it was going to be one of  _ those _ days and added a generous portion of milk. 

Judy and Ron had already parted by the time she sat down and Ron glanced her way.

“Everything okay?” he asked, concern in his eyes.

_ No. It’s only been twelve days since my mother died,  _ Alex thought but rather than verbalize the bitter response, she shoved a giant spoonful of cereal into her mouth and nodded in reply to his question. She didn’t trust herself to speak in that moment, not when the familiar prickle of tears verged on the edge of existence. 

_ Stop this,  _ she scolded herself, the nails of her free hand biting into her palm.  _ You’re just tired. A little stressed. No reason to start crying again. This is your fresh start. A good start. Everything will be okay. You need to relax. Enjoy breakfast.  _ Another mouthful of Cheerios disappeared but this time it didn’t choke her as much as before.

Just as her little pep-talk started to take on some real motion the doorbell chimed. Alex paused, spoon partially raised, head turned in the direction of the sound. 

“I’ll get it!” Sam’s voice bellowed from the living room and his footsteps thumped against the wooden floor. 

Ron flicked the newspaper pages and let out a grunt. “I swear if it’s that guy trying to sell us a water heater again I’m going to throw the shoe rack at him.”

“Oh be nice.” Judy grinned, placing her used glass in the dishwasher. “He was just a young fellow.”

“Old enough to try and scam us,” Ron muttered.

“Um, Mom?” Sam appeared in the doorway. He noticed Alex and gave her a nod before resuming a confused expression. “Mrs. Williams from your book club is here. She says she has a calcuttis or a clafittis for—”

“It is a clafoutis, my dear boy,” a new voice corrected Sam before a woman, appearing to be in her seventies, swept into the kitchen with an air of haughtiness and a pie plate clutched between her hands.

There was a hint of familiarity as Alex inspected the visitor. She was impeccably dressed, standing out among them in a tailored purple pant-suit that sharply contrasted the stark-white hair that lay in tight curls against her scalp. Jewelry adorned the exposed skin of her throat and wrists and twinkled in the light as she offered forth her gift.

“Why Elizabeth, this is a pleasant surprise,” Judy fawned, receiving the plate from the woman. “I wasn’t expecting you.”   
  


“Of course you weren’t, sweetheart. Moira saw your van in the driveway and called me this morning, letting me know you were back in town.” Mrs. Williams waited until Judy had set the plate down before she grasped one of her hands, giving it a squeeze. “I thought I’d stop by with my condolences. I’m  _ so  _ sorry about your dear sister. She was a lovely girl.”

“Oh, thank you, Elizabeth. You didn’t have to—”

“Of course I did. You and Mary were like my own daughters. I was absolutely  _ heartbroken _ to hear of her passing.” A small laced handkerchief appeared from the purse she carried and she dabbed it against her eyes before sniffing and tucking it away again.”Now, I brought you some dessert. Grieving families shouldn’t have to worry about eating. It’s cherry, I hope you’ll like it.”

Alex caught both Sam and Ron eyeing the dish and she had to admit it smelled heavenly from her spot at the table. 

Judy, who still looked rather overwhelmed by the sudden visitor, thanked the woman again and then motioned toward Alex.

“I’m sure you remember Mary’s daughter, Alexandria,” Judy introduced. 

Wanting to be polite, Alex pushed away her cereal and stood. The woman’s rose-colored lips formed a tight little circle of surprise as if she had just become aware there were others in the room. Alex wiped her palms against her shorts, forcing herself not to shift in her spot under the scrutinizing gaze. 

“Of course I do. Oh my dear, how much you’ve grown.” Mrs. Williams drew closer, searching Alex’s face. “I used to babysit you when you were only a little thing, maybe a foot high. I can’t believe how long it’s been.” The tone of her voice changed as the longing of memories faded into sympathy. “How are you doing? Losing your poor mother to such a terrible tragedy, I can’t imagine the toll that would take on a child such as yourself.”

Alex sucked in a breath, a little shocked and impressed at how the woman was able to add insult to injury while putting her on the spot in the span of a single sentence. 

Her family seemed to share her thoughts on this; Ron cast an unimpressed look at Mrs. Williams over the top of his newspaper and Sam snorted from his position against the far wall, arms crossed over his chest. 

“As well as expected,” Alex heard herself reply, trying not to let her irritation slip. The woman didn’t deserve that, even though the first morning in her new home had taken a step away from comfortable. Not when the visit was hopefully meant with the best of intentions.  

But, as she opened her mouth, to thank Mrs. Williams for being so considerate, an emotional bomb was flung in her face. 

“And with you suffering from the trauma of your accident.” Mrs. Williams tsked. “You must feel so blessed that your aunt and uncle have taken you under their care. Southgate really does have some wonderful mental health outreach programs.”

Alex reflexively pulled her sleeve down until her right hand was fully covered by the fabric. Her scars hadn’t been visible before but she couldn’t help but feel as if they were suddenly glaringly obvious by everyone in the room. 

Ron tossed the newspaper on the table. “Now hold on, that’s going too—”

“Elizabeth!” Judy squeaked as she tried to divert any impending fallout. “Come help me serve some of this delicious looking pie before it gets cold." 

“Clafoutis. It’s French, similar to a flan. And yes, it  _ is  _ a good idea to serve it now while it is still warm. With fresh cream if you have it,” Mrs. Williams replied, turning to assist.

Even though she was free from her attention, Alex remained frozen in her spot. Across from her, Sam was bug-eyed with his hand over his mouth, looking the proper way one should when the rules of basic social etiquette were brutalized and spat upon. 

Ron called her name softly and she snapped out of her haze. He positioned her bowl closer to the chair beside him and nodded at its seat.

“Here, come finish your breakfast, kiddo.” 

Alex sat down stiffly and settled under the encouraging pat he gave to her shoulder. 

“You’re doing good. Don’t worry, you’ve got this.”

His warm supportive voice was nice to hear even though it didn’t get rid of tactless guests or change the poor state of her cereal. Her spoon dipped into the milk, displacing the masses of soggy, bloated circles, floating in liquid that was more sugar than dairy.  

Again, struggling to choke down some sustenance, Alex did her best to tune out Mrs. Williams by mulling over her uncle’s words. 

There was truth to what he said. 

She could do this.

Everything was going to be alright.

 

0-0-0-0-0

 

Two hours later, everything  _ wasn't  _ alright.

The moment the cherry dessert was finished, when the last bite of cream and baked batter disappeared into a welcoming mouth, there came another chime of the doorbell. The confused-looking family turned to Mrs. Williams who preened at the chance to indulge them in a tidbit of gossip. She piped up the newcomer was likely Moira, wrought with grief, coming to express her condolences as well. 

And it didn’t stop there. 

With Moira came the trickle of the book club members, who were seen by the neighbors down the street, who just happened to be friends with coworkers from Judy’s office. Everyone and anyone in the vicinity with ties to the family seemed to come out of the woodwork. The doorbell rang again and again from the continuous stream of well-wishes showing up on the front steps of the two-story Craftsman home.

Now it was a full-blown second reception and Alex was ready to climb the walls. 

She ducked out of the living room, managing to avoid making eye contact with the newest group that just arrived. She dragged in several deep breaths through her nose trying to calm the pulse that was racing high in her throat. 

It was funny how memory worked. Failing to remind her she was back where everything started going downhill. Where six years ago the local news had been dragging the bottom of the barrel for stories to run and when there came word two young girls were involved in a freak accident, leaving one in hospital and the other emotionally scarred, the coverage had been extensive. Almost bordering ridiculous. So now she was practically falling over people who knew her either as the girl who was hit by lightning, the niece with mental health issues, or the teen whose mother was gunned down in broad daylight. At least at the funeral, when people approached her to talk all the while looking at her with sympathy, pity, or both, Alex knew how to act. She was dressed the part. The time was right. The church an appropriate setting. But here, caught off-guard in the house that she was supposed to make her own, she couldn’t push back against the anxiety that clawed at her chest. 

Another deep breath. In and out. Just how her therapists had taught her. 

Nothing changed.

Her eyes closed and she pictured her calming place; a field marked by purple grasses dancing under a starry sky. 

It didn’t work either. 

None of the behavioral interventions did. She needed something else, something stronger, to calm her down before she turned into a blubbering, hyperventilating mess on the oak floorboards.  

There was an option upstairs; tucked away in the recesses of her purse, even though the thought of using medications,  _ more _ medications, turned her stomach. 

But, as the doorbell rang yet again and panic set in, she headed for the stairway. 

Alex was two steps up when voices at the top made her scramble back the way she came, biting back a whimper. It seemed every spare inch of the house was occupied and, desperate to find some solace, she veered off to the left and found herself once again in the kitchen. The backyard patio doors could be seen beyond the crowd that conversed over the plethora of desserts, casseroles, and fruit trays covering every free surface of the room. She made a beeline for them, keeping her eyes downcast and ignoring the call of her name from down the hall behind her. 

Only when she was outside—where the warm air brushed sweetly across her skin and the sounds of birds overpowered the muffled conversation seeping through the glass behind her—did she give pause. The scenic yard was lulling but its peacefulness only temporary as her uncle’s voice, along with that of another man, could be heard from around the corner of the house. Their voices increased in volume as they drew near and, before she could be spotted, she flew across the patio and down the path leading across the lawn, her socked feet silent against the flagstones. Her retreating form was hidden by the far side of the garage just as Ron and several guests came into view. 

Standing frozen in her spot, trying to quiet the huffing sounds of her breath, Alex listened intently to the bits and pieces of the conversation she could make out only to realize that they were still coming her way. 

Luckily, the side entrance of the garage was unlocked and she quietly slipped behind the door and shut it gently so it latched without a sound. 

Alex slowly backed away from the door as the knob began to creak, turning slightly in its place. Her uncle was right outside now, his laughter easily distinguishable from the others as they made jokes about barbecuing and the like. She didn’t know what to do. What would she say when the door opened to reveal her standing there alone? 

Her back came into contact with a solid, unmovable object and she looked to see she’d crossed to the far side of the garage and was pressed up against a workbench along the wall. Alex glanced at the door again, which opened a bit more to where she could see the side of Ron’s body and the garden beyond. The chatter continued and Alex braced herself but then she heard someone call out from the house, beckoning Ron and the others. 

The door closed and the voices faded, their owners leaving the area.  

Finally alone, Alex hoisted herself up onto the surface of the workbench with shaky limbs. She drew her legs up to her chest, wrapping her arms around her knees. She should have been awash with relief but instead she just felt lost. Perhaps even a little self-disgust.

Her breathing grew ragged and soon the harsh irregular gasps gave way to wracking, choking sobs and she cried into the clutching embrace of her arms. 

She missed her. 

She missed her so  _ fucking _ much she didn't know how it would be possible to fill the emptiness she felt inside.

So she wept.

And eventually her pain, ugly and raw in its onset, finally began to subside, becoming soft whimpers and nasally whines until even they too fell into silence. 

Alex rubbed at her puffy, tear-stained face and leaned back to rest her head against the wall, utterly exhausted. Tiny specks of dust flowed across a beam of sunlight shining through the window sitting high up to her left and she watched the dancing particles, feeling a sense of calm settling over her. The clamminess of cold sweat no longer chilled her skin and her heart and breathing was even and slow.

Be it the peacefulness of the garage or finally finding a moment to herself, she was thankful to be returning to normal. 

Not yet ready to rejoin the commotion of the house, however, Alex's eyes roamed over her surroundings. The room was quite tidy for a garage. The upper walls and rafters were new—if the brightness of the wood was any indication—and the sweet aroma of fresh cedar mixing with the usual smells of gasoline, oil, and leather was pleasing to the nose. A potted plant sat on display on the windowsill and a mix of metal signs and a pegboard of tools hung on the wall she leaned against. Across the way, just off from the door, a couch sat in front of a shelving unit, which held a large television set. High stacks of movies were piled in front of it and Alex couldn’t help but think she’d stumbled onto someone’s man cave. 

She slid off the workbench and slowly made her way deeper into the room, inspecting the miscellaneous wall items as she went. A few of the signs were quite humorous and the corner of her mouth quirked as she paused to read them here and there. 

Upon reaching the back, where it was devoid of any further trinkets to occupy her interest, she turned her curiosity to the main feature of the garage.

A yellow sports car with black racing stripes sat silently in the center, metal body impeccably clean and lines glinting where the sunlight hit. It was a little out of place among the dull interior but, as the garage was warm and dry and provided protection from the elements, the functionality of the space made sense if not the display value. 

The license plate read “900 STRA” and didn't list any particular state, which was a little peculiar, seeing how she’d always thought it was a requirement. Then again, vanity plates were never something her mother could afford so she couldn’t exactly say she was an expert on the matter. 

As Alex’s attention was on the plate, she remained oblivious to sudden movement from within the car. The center of the steering wheel began to ripple and shift; silent, subtle and hidden by the tinted glass of the windows. Small mechanical cells flipped and rotated with quick precision and in the span of a single breath the symbol previously adorning that spot had disappeared, leaving only smooth metal in its place. 

The visitor was none the wiser.

Alex moved around the side of the car and saw small silver lettering, printed in bold font on the front fender, indicating the make of the car as a Camaro. Intrigued, she peered through the driver’s window. An air freshener in the shape of a bee and one of those mini novelty-store disco balls dangled from the rearview mirror over a darkened dashboard. The interior was decked out in a classic black motif—always stylish—with silver trim and yellow stitching threaded through the leather bucket seats, perfectly matching the color scheme of the exterior. She leaned forward as she tried to see the finer details. Her fingertips hovered just over the door handle. 

“Oh my god!” she cried, losing about ten years and two feet as she jumped in her spot when the garage door flung open with a bang. 

An anxious looking Sam rushed in and stopped short on spotting her. His eyes grew wider, darting between Alex and the car before he cleared his throat.

“Oh hey, Alex. You—you’re in here,” he stuttered, shifting back and forth before finally leaning to one side and crossing his arms over his chest. “What are—what are you doing in here?”

Hand pressed over her chest she gave him a mildly accusatory glare. “You scared the living shit out of me.” She dissolved into a nervous chuckle, smoothing her hair back and taking a tentative step away from the vehicle. “I was just trying to find somewhere quiet for a few minutes. I swear didn't touch the car or anything.”

“Quiet?”

“Yeah. I needed to get away from all of the people in there”—she pointed toward the house—“as it was getting too crowded, too… umm…”

His expression softened. “Stressful?”

“You could say that,” she replied and then gestured to their surroundings. “And this seemed to be the only place where I could be alone right now.”

Sam’s eyes darted to the car again.

“Anyway,” she continued, “I see your dad finally decided to add to his collection.” Her head tilted toward the Camaro.

“What? Oh no, that’s my car.”

A moment of silence passed between them.

“... _ your _ car?” Alex said slowly. She looked at the vehicle beside her, which carried at least a fifty-thousand-plus dollar price tag with it. Definitely not the usual starter a teenager threw down a couple grand for.

Sam tried to explain. “Well yeah, it’s mine but it’s not like I could have afforded it on my own. Seeing how I don’t have a… job… or anything.” He cleared his throat. “But my dad —uh—he bought it for me.”

Alex’s shocked expression didn’t change. “ _ Uncle Ron _ bought you  _ this _ car?” Certainly a difficult concept to grasp, considering how Ron’s thrifty nature was evident even for the newest souls he met. 

“Uh-huh,” Sam squeaked, head bobbing up and down in short rapid nods. “It was a gift for doing well in school.”

Alex continued to stare at him with disbelief. 

His mouth opened and closed a few times like a fish before he blurted out, “I got really,  _ really _ , good grades.”

“I’ll bet….” she said, the conversation veering into an awkward area. She rubbed her forearm through the faded material of the second-hand shirt she wore. “Anyway… why were you looking for me?”

“Oh, right. Mom was wanting to introduce you to someone. Something to do with art. I didn’t really pick up what it was about but she looked really excited so we probably shouldn’t keep her waiting.” He motioned toward the door.

“Alright.” Hint received she went to follow him but then Sam, who must have noticed her hesitancy, piped up with an offer. 

“Hey, how about after everything settles down I take you out for a drive? You know, once I have a chance to prepare.”

Pausing on her way past him, she cocked a brow. “Prepare?”

“Um yeah… prepare,” he repeated, again fumbling in response to her query. “As you pointed out, expensive car and all. Gotta make sure the weather is good. Fluid levels are… adequate. Check traffic reports…”

Her lips curled in a smile at the perplexing babbling. It was one of the quirks about her cousin she loved; being both endearing and amusing even though she could barely follow along sometimes. “In other words, prepare?” she reiterated.

He snapped and pointed a finger at her. “Exactly.”

Chuckling, she allowed him to usher her out the door. “Well, I would enjoy that. It’s a plan then.”

Sam cast one last look back inside the garage and then closed the door behind them before turning to her with his own smile gracing his features. “It’s a plan,” he echoed and then, side-by-side, they returned to the house.

 

0-0-0-0-0

 

The footsteps faded in the distance, the garage growing quiet once more. Only the faintest of hums sounded in the silence as the Camaro’s mirrors returned to their neutral position after following the path of the girl as she explored the garage; their owner observing her as much as she had been observing him. 

Bumblebee was shaken to his core.

When the unknown human first appeared, slipping into the garage to hide like a trapped animal, Bee tensed with wariness. This, however, dissolved into pure shock when she crossed in front of him and her face came into view. A face with features strikingly familiar to one he hadn’t seen for cycles but remembered vividly. 

_ Alexandria. _

Her name echoed about in his head. 

It couldn’t be her. The mere probability of Alexandria being there, of her  _ knowing  _ Sam, was astronomically small. So much so it was almost laughable. 

Yet he couldn’t help the tug at his spark, the rise of a small glimmer of hope. 

Bee gave himself a shake. It wouldn’t do him any good to just jump to conclusions. That was simply not the attribute of a good scout. Optimus would need a report; an accurate report, so he began running through his observations. 

First and foremost Sam had referred to her as Alex. With the boy being a prime example, calling someone by a shorter version of their name seemed to be a common practice for humans. Several online databases also confirmed that Alex  _ was  _ a diminutive of Alexandria. 

But then it also was for Alexandra. 

And Alexa… Alexis…

It also didn’t help that he couldn’t remember if Alexandria ever told him her last name. Or the name of her mother for that matter; always referring to her simply as “mom” when they spoke. 

At that thought a wave of shame fell over him. The female obviously had believed she was alone and so when he heard her cries of anguish and saw her tears as she held tight onto herself, withdrawing from the world, he knew he was intruding a private moment. This made him feel lower than low. Like the layer of ash covering Cybertron’s wastelands where it clogged gears and choked up vents. Or maybe the rust-colored dirt below the ash; so saturated with weapon runoff and fluids from disintegrating bodies that it gave off its own radiation. 

If there was any question of the female being Sam’s cousin, it vanished the moment he witnessed her grief.  

_ Maybe it would be better if it turns out she isn’t Alexandria _ , he thought, hating the idea of his friend suffering so. 

Blue beams shot out from his headlights and the recording his security program captured during Alexandria’s first visit to his stasis platform flickered to life. He watched it for a moment, whirring in longing at the memory before he scanned forward and paused on the part where she stood up to offer her hand in greeting to him. Next to it, the holo he’d taken of Alex, as she came along his driver’s side door, appeared. Bee looked back and forth between the two females, comparing one to the other. 

The green values coloring Alexandria were light but that didn’t necessarily mean they translated into the blonde hair and Caucasian skin tone of Sam’s cousin. Alexandria’s face was rounded with full cheeks and held a pert nose and thin lips. Hair, straight and long, trailed down her back and her build was slender, flat, and rectangular. 

He looked at the holo of Alex. An angled jaw framed a face characterized by similar eyes, a slender nose and plump lips. Her hair was shorter, braid just ending above shoulder-height, and her body was full and curved with the secondary sex features of an adult human female. 

Similarities and differences both existing at once and both far too subtle.

The holos blinked off as air whooshed out his vents in a huff. He was no closer to an answer than when he started.

_ Why do all humans have to look alike? _

With an embarrassing subpar report formulated, Bumblebee opened his comm. 

 

0-0-0-0-0

 

Seven thick coils of nylon rope wound around the tree log like serpents, their smooth surface cutting into the roughness of the bark and biting just enough to secure it to the tree limb overhead. Bumblebee adjusted the last knot and placed the flat of his hand in the center. Solid wood met solid metal. He curled his digits into a fist. The log seem adequate enough but only a test would make sure. 

The soft carpet of moss and pine needles muffled his feet as he dropped into an offensive stance and, taking a fragment of a second to size up his target, he swung his fist. The arc was smooth, the movement second nature, and he connected with a crack that sent the log spinning away from him, propelled into a twisting, erratic dance on the end of its noose.  

Bee moved to the side as it came back his way. The rope groaned, aching under the strain, and the branch creaked warningly above him but both held tight. Satisfied, he stopped the log on its next pass and returned it to its starting position. 

_ A little light but it’ll have to do,  _ he thought.

A curse followed by the clank of metal sounded behind him and Bee glanced to where Sam was chasing a tin can as it rolled and bounced away from him at the edge of the forest. Similar cans were strung up along the perimeter; Sam’s new idea for target practice as, after all, smaller targets were supposed to be harder, right? A grin pulled at Bee’s face plates at the boy’s eagerness to challenge him. Wit against brawn Sam would say, always earning a defensive buzz from the Autobot. 

The rims of the tin cans tried to glint in the speckled light that was allowed to sliver through the dense canopy. Several of the bodies of the cans tried as well, or, at least, the ones that weren’t clothed in spray paint. Bee’s gaze traveled over the mix of shiny silver tin hung between other more vibrant hues. Blue. Red. Green. Different colors meant to represent different targets—Autobots, Decepticons, humans—all strung up together and swaying gently in the breeze that shifted through from the open field beyond. The cans that were naked... well, Bumblebee wasn't sure who they represented. 

Not yet anyway.

The can Sam was chasing suddenly skidded across the ground as the boy’s shoe accidentally kicked it further. Bee chuckled to himself and turned back to the task at hand, least Sam notice the direction of his amusement. From the base of the tree, he grabbed the one lone bottle of aerosolized white paint Sam had given him on his request. It tapped against his thigh plates with high-pitched  _ tinks _ as he observed the log. 

It needed something, or rather, someone to grace its surface. The question was who should that someone be? Which individual was lucky enough to have their image captured in paint on the makeshift punching bag?

Scoffing, since the answer was an easy one, Bee leaned close to the log and pressed the nozzle carefully with one of his large digits. Stark white paint hissed out of the pressurized device, creating thick lines that stood out nicely against the dark hue of the wood. 

Soon Starscream’s portrait stood out on its surface.

Bee observed his work with a smug look. “Break my hydraulic, will you?” The growl came low in his throat. 

“Who is that supposed to be?”

Taken aback, Bee looked down to where Sam now stood beside him. The boy had his head cocked, brows scrunched up in an attempt to decipher the markings. 

“Wait…” Bee said, “it’s not obvious?”

Sam’s face pinched further. “Eeh…” His hand tilted side to side.

“It’s Starscream.”

“I guess…” Sam hesitated, the flicker of recognition there in his eyes but not as bright as Bee hoped. “It could be better, though. Here”—one hand reached out for the paint—“I’ll show you how you  _ should  _ have drawn him.”

The teen went to the far side of the log and made a few swipes of white on its bottom-most portion, seeing how it was the only part he could reach. Bee hovered nearby until Sam beckoned him closer with a flick of his fingers, inviting him to take a look. 

An oddly shaped triangle glared back with beady eyes bordered by heavy downward slashing brows. Its thin stick-like arms were raised threatening in the air, each ending with three curved claws. The body was supported by a pair of short bowed legs that seemed to bend and buckle under a non-existent weight.

“And that is…” Bee trailed off, looking at Sam for clarification.

“An angry Dorito.”

Bee blinked. Once. Twice. His gaze on the Dorito that seemed to be staring right back at him with its unbridled fury. And the more he looked at it, and it looked at him, the more Bee felt the coils of laughter winding up his insides. Laughter that welled and grew until he began to chuckle, which only seemed to make the Dorito’s expression more infuriated. This flamed his mirth until the chuckles gave way to nothing short of full-blown howls. One hand held his midsection while the other partially covered his face, doing little to shield himself from the angry glare of the Dorito that he felt now was seared into his memory banks. If he’d been able to produce tears, he would surely be crying right about now.

Sam could be heard snorting and guffawing beside him—laughter being the contagious thing that it was—and the sounds of the two of them bounced off the trees of the forest, dancing with the filtered light.

Sam wheezed, “I’m guessing you like it?” he asked, face split in a wide grin and nostrils flaring with exertion. 

“I just keep picturing that”—Bee pointed, his vocal processor crackling with static, the words barely making it through his laughter— “flying above Cybertron leading the Seeker force and it’s—it’s the most ridiculous thing ever.”

Another peal escaped Bee, long and loud, before finally ending in a whir as he gave his head a good shake. “Alright, alright,” he repeated, diverting his gaze from Sam as the look on the boy’s face threatened to send him into another fit. Cool air cycled through his vents with a whoosh and he straightened up. “I’m sorry. I’m okay now.”

“Nah, man.” Sam brushed the apology off. “Nothing wrong with a little humor. Laughter is the best medicine and all.” A smile still played on his lips as he retrieved the cap for the spray paint. “And it’s nice to see you let it all out.”

Bee rubbed the back of his neck. “It  _ did _ feel good,” he admitted, feeling as if a weight he hadn’t been aware of had been lifted from him. “Laughter as medicine, huh? I kind of like that...”

Sam went to reply but was cut off as the sound of a car approaching came from the dirt road across the way from them. Not expecting any visitors, Bee knelt low behind the tree, one hand guiding Sam behind him. Luckily though, as soon as the car came into view Bee could make out its front license plate through the burn of the late afternoon sun. He relaxed.

“It’s Corporal Mathews,” he said, motioning Sam to follow him. 

The old repurposed Honda Accord rumbled to a stop, the soft growling of its engine hinting at high quality parts hidden beneath its drab and faded grey exterior. Mathews stepped out, the thick soles of her boots crunching against the stone and dirt of the road, and she straightened her already lineless jacket. The obstacle course received a brief glance.  

“It seems you two have been hard at work,” she said as the pair approached and stopped just short of her position. One finger swept across the expanse of the field. “I don’t remember this place being so extensive the last time I was here.”

“Gotta push the limits,” Sam chirped up, giving Bee’s lower leg a nudge with his elbow, “Right, buddy?”

Bumblebee gave a hum in reply. 

Sam continued, pride woven into his voice. “Added four new areas since your last visit. You should hang out and watch. It’s pretty fun. We’re currently do this one thing where—”

Mathews raised her hand effectively cutting off any further verbal tour of the course. 

“Sorry, Samuel—”

“Sam.”

“Yes, right,” she corrected, placing a bit more strain on the shortened version of his name, “Sorry,  _ Sam _ , but I’m not here for a social visit so I’ll have to take your word for it. Rather, I have some information that’s come down from the brass that I need to share with you.”

“Oh.” Sam glanced briefly at Bee. “Sure thing. What’s up?”

Again Mathews straightened the clothing that hadn’t moved out of place since the first time and then clasped her hands in front of her. “I’ve been told that Bumblebee has been reassigned.”

  
“What?” The response blurted from Sam’s lips as a single shocked word and Bee’s as a clipped whir. “But why? When?”

 Bee shook his head, knowing his own confusion was fully portrayed in his expression. “Optimus hasn’t contacted me about this.”

“I’ve been told he’s aware,” Mathews clarified with a click of her tongue, “and since this was a solution for an issue brought forth by our side, it was felt it would be best to have it communicated through our channels”

Sam took a step forward. “What issue?”

An apologetic look briefly graced Mathews face before it was replaced by the usual no nonsense of her character. “Concerns have been raised regarding the increased risk to the operation’s security. A breach is not something my superiors are willing to tolerate and for that reason Bumblebee will be joining the Autobots by the end of next week in the preparation for the Diego Garcia move.”

“That soon?” The dismayed teen blurted out once again, his browns pinching together. “But, wait… what increased risk?”

Bee, having already guessed the reason, spoke up. “It’s because of Alex, isn’t it?”

“Alex?” Sam’s gaze swiveled from Mathews to Bee and back. “She’s the reason Bee has to leave? But we haven’t told her anything and we won’t. Even if she  _ did _ happen to find out—and I’m  _ really  _ emphasizing the ‘if’ part—she would never,  _ ever  _ say anything. She’s family. We can trust her.” 

Sam looked at him, seeking support, but unfortunately Bee felt that a final decision had already been made and no amount of reassurance on their end would change it. There was also his nagging suspicion that he—not Sam nor any other human—was the one flagged as the likely source of his own discovery. Even though he didn’t want to admit it, if Alex  _ did  _ turn out to be his Alexandria, then the urge to reconnect with the little female would be a strong one. He knew it and, more so, Optimus knew it as well.

Mathew’s voice drew Bee back to the conversation. “If it were only that simple, Sam, we wouldn’t even be here right now discussing this—”

“But it  _ is  _ that simple,” Sam interrupted. “I vouched for my parents and you guys brought them in on everything.”

“We have Sector Seven to thank for starting  _ that  _ process,” Mathews replied wryly. “Also, we needed you and Miss Banes—”

“Mikaela.”

“Right, right…  _ Mikaela _ to sign a contract and no contract of  _ any  _ kind would  _ ever  _ be considered legally binding if it were signed by a minor in the absence of a parent or, in Mikaela’s case, a makeshift guardian. Hence, they were pulled in out of necessity.”

“Almost eighteen really isn’t a minor…” Sam muttered under his breath before raising his voice back to arguing volume. “But still Alex—"

"Alex has no ties whatsoever to this operation and it is going to  _ stay  _ that way. Her background alone had the brass wanting to pull Bumblebee as of today. You're lucky you got a week out of this."

Bee’s cranial circuits prickled at the odd statement. “Background? What are you talking about?”

“It’s nothing,” Sam interjected before casting a scowl at Mathews. “I don’t see how a personal,  _ private _ issue is any of the government’s business and why it should matter anyway.”

“ _ Everything _ is our business,” Mathews corrected, “and I’m just giving you all of the details. No need to get upset with the messenger.”

Sam huffed, threading his fingers through his hair. “I’m not upset. At least not with you. It’s just that a lot of shit has happened recently and this is just one more thing to add to the pile.” 

“Not to point out the obvious, but what about the Decepticons?” Bee asked.

Sam jerked a thumb up at him. “Yeah, that’s a good point. What  _ about  _ them?”

“Priorities have changed.” Mathews said simply as she leaned against the hood of her car. “They think that enough time has passed that the probability of an attack on you or your family is low enough to group you with the risk posed to the general population.” 

“Nice to know we’re as special as the next slob,” Sam snorted, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans and kicking a loose pebble across the dusty road. 

“We’ve all taken a hit, Sam, and—”

“Downgraded more like it.”

A twitch of Mathew’s lip gave away her own opinion on the matter.

“I’m curious”—Sam sniffed, running a finger under his nose— “just how one gets downgraded from a glorified babysitter?”

Bee gave Sam a warning click; the boy’s mouth certainly ran when up against change he didn’t like.

Mathews didn’t rise to the bait but there was a frost to her grey stare. “Bumblebee is considered an asset that can be better utilized elsewhere while my presence has been deemed to be sufficient enough in regard to general surveillance.”

“Ouch,” Sam winced. “Just a babysitter.” 

“Sam…” Bee’s voice dropped low and he shifted his bulk just enough to make Sam take notice of the shadow covering him. 

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry.” Sam, palms in the air in front of him, squinted up against the sun that backed the form of his friend. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, turning to face Mathews. His apology received a nod of acceptance. “Just… a lot of shit.”

“You must have known this wasn't going to last,” Mathews pressed gently. “I mean you  _ are  _ harboring a giant extraterrestrial in your backyard. Er—no offense.”

Bee chuckled. “None taken. First time I’ve been called gigantic.”

She gave him a quirked brow. Sam looked as if he were about to smile but the strain on his face kept it hidden.

“It’s probably time I got back.” Mathews checked the silver wristwatch that hid under the white of a cuff. “I still have to update your parents on the matter and Mrs. Witwicky should be back from her trip to the grocery store by now. Have a good evening.”

“That’s a bit of a moot point, don’t you think?” Sam asked. 

Mathews, part way to the driver’s door, paused long enough to give him a sympathetic nod. The car dipped with her weight and both Sam and Bee stepped back, giving the Honda a wide enough berth to turn around without catching its tires on the brush that edged the road. With a kick of dust, it sped off, leaving the forgotten obstacle course behind.  

 

0-0-0-0-0

 

The trip heading home was a quiet one with both Sam and Bumblebee lost to their own thoughts, the excursion to the obstacle course cut short by the damper of the Corporal’s visit. Neither had expressed much interest in continuing the task that had been started with such zeal. It seemed to matter little now, seeing how the end loomed overhead.

Sam stared absently out the driver’s side window, hands on his lap, fingers barely grazing the wheel that shifted under its own accord. His expression, mirrored in the glass, would have been fitting for a bleak overcast sky and not for the current pristine expanse streaked in rich reds and oranges. Bumblebee hummed, hiding the sound with a rev of his engine, as he wished he could be the upbeat one at this moment. It would be forced, however, and he didn’t want to insult the boy’s intelligence by pretending nothing was the matter. 

A green road sign for a turnoff approached rapidly as the ground was eaten up beneath his tires. The white block letters indicated the Pacific Coast Highway lay ahead. There came a tug at his spark as he remembered the road traveled by him and Sam once before to reach a very specific and important destination along the western coast.  

Without warning to his passenger he changed lanes and took the ramp that led them perpendicular to their prior route.

Sam, not as deep into his thoughts as he had assumed, cast him a questioning glance. 

“There’s something I need to do,” Bee told him, his voice soft. 

There was no need to elaborate as Sam caught on after an inspection of their surroundings. 

“I understand,” Sam replied, settling back into his seat for the additional two hour round trip they faced. “You do what you need to do.” A hint of a smile appeared on his face. “Just, we may have to stop for some food after.”

Bee chuckled. Food could always be counted on as an effective compromise with the seemingly perpetually hungry teen. “Of course. And… thank you.” 

There was a pat on his wheel and he warmed the seat in return, soothing muscles but not conflicting with the humidity outside; the trip just that much more comfortable for his friend.

 

0-0-0-0-0

 

Night had fallen by the time they reached their destination near Mugu Canyon. The area was pitch black as Bee veered off the road and moved between sandy dunes and rocky outcrops. The highway and the periodic vehicles it carried disappeared behind them. When the terrain became more difficult he stopped and opened his door. 

Sam got out and stretched, head turned upward to the stars and moon above. “You definitely don’t get this view in the city,” he remarked. 

Bee shifted into his bipedal mode and nodded. An ocean of stars surrounded Earth’s satellite, which sat high overhead in its waxing gibbous phase. The reflected bright white light kept the inky darkness at bay. He left his headlights on, however, until Sam climbed onto one of the large flat rocks that studded the land. “Are you going to be okay there,” he asked, giving their surroundings a quick once over for threats. 

 “Should be.” Sam laid back against the stone. “I have a nice view to keep me occupied and I don’t plan on going for a moonlit walk anytime soon. Plus you’re within screaming range if a coyote happens to find me appetizing.”

The look he gave Sam was fairly self explanatory. 

“That was a joke.” Sam waved him away. “I’m fine. Go on.” 

It was another moment before Bee turned, walking off into the darkness and leaving his charge behind. 

The crashing surf of the ocean grew louder as he closed the distance with long strides and soon he was at the precipice of a cliff overlooking the bay that fed into the cool waters of the North Pacific. Waves crashed below him leaving foamy patterns on rocks slick with algae.

Bee could imagine the tug of the undertow is it dragged the water back into the black depths. Beyond the reach of his gaze on the horizon, the bottom dropping off into the abyss, no light penetrating from above. To a quiet and isolated area where an unmarked shipping container sat alone and hidden on the sandy ocean floor. 

The grave of an Autobot soldier.

The resting place of Jazz.

Taking care not to disturb the fragile soil of the edge, Bumblebee sat down and rested his arms against his crossed legs. 

He watched the water a bit longer before sighing.

“Hey… It’s me.”

The following pause was drawn out. An answer never came. 

Not that he had expected one. 

The waves crashed below him again and the receding water gurgled as it drained between the rocks. Back out it went to the depths where his friend was hidden away from the world.

“I’m being shipped out soon. Some island on the other side of this world in the middle of nowhere.” Bee continued. The awkwardness of talking to himself lessened as he pretended Jazz was listening. His shoulders hunched in a shrug. “Pretty decent stronghold I guess, at least against us grounders.” 

A small smile graced his face plates as he knew Jazz would have laughed at that. The Decepticon’s tended to have more bots with flight tech than those without. 

The smile didn’t last long however.

“I wish I wasn’t. Going that is.” He shook his head. “But I know I had to get back to dealing with the Cons eventually. I had just hoped to have more time away from it all.” 

Bee spared a glance over his shoulder to where Sam remained stargazing on the rock just beyond the cloak of night. A thermal scan showed all was well, the boy still lying on his back with fingers drumming against his abdomen.

“Being with Sam. His family… Away from the fighting. It’s really been something else,” he said, recalling his short time with them. “They don’t expect anything from me. I have no assignments aside from the guardianship. No priority lists. No targets…” His right hand flexed, the plates of his arm sliding over one another back and forth as he played with an activation code. His plasma cannon started to take shape but then reversed into the limb’s standard structure. 

His optics fixated on the spot. So many others offlined because of it. 

“I’m tired…” He heard himself confess; the words seemed to materialize before he could stop them. “I’m so fraggin’ tired of it all…” A strained chuckle echoed from his vocal processor and he gazed back out across the ocean seeking the direction of the grave. “Just… don’t go telling Optimus, okay? Knowing him, he can probably speak to the dead. Being a Prime and all.” 

The sounds of the waves answered. Black waters grasped at the land, threatening to pull everything down with them into their abyss. Bee suddenly gripped the stony embankment as a deep ache clenched at his spark. 

_ Dead. _

_ Jazz was dead. _

Air exited his vents with a shudder. “I’m sorry”—his voice cracked—“I’m so sorry…” 

Thrums, low-pitched and mournful, vibrated at his throat as the image of Jazz’s mangled body played over and over in his head. Optimus reaching down to gently take the lieutenant's listless corpse from Ironhide’s protective grasp. 

He was gone just like the others. Forever.

And it was his fault. 

“Why didn’t I end Megatron when I had the chance?” he whispered, the words swept up by the salty breeze off the water. “He was there in that bunker. Frozen and alone. Vulnerable. Just one clean shot was all I needed and if I had done that he would be dead and you would still be here…”

His shoulders sagged.

All it had taken was just one moment. One moment out of many where the course of action seemed clear and he believed he had been doing the right thing. 

Secure the Cube at all costs. Keep it from the Decepticons. Bring it back within Autobot control. 

Very straightforward at that time, considering the Decepticon’s were encroaching on the Cube’s position. 

Bumblebee recalled the sudden flicker of the lights above where he lay shackled to the examination table. Even through all of the noise—the constant  _ whooshing _ of the liquid nitrogen as it bit its way across his parts, the incessant chatter of the humans swarming around him—the deep  _ boom  _ far off in the distance had been picked up by his audio receptors. He knew what little precious time he had left was dwindling rapidly. 

The Cube was near; he had felt its presence—its energy—tugging at his spark the moment he was whisked into the heavily secured facility.   

It was near.

And it was in danger 

That was why he only hesitated briefly when Sam told him Megatron was in the next hanger. 

Why he ignored the most dangerous Decepticon ever created.

And Jazz was dead because of it.

His optics squeezed shut as the thrums increased in intensity. One hand slid over his chest to rest above where his spark hid behind thick armor plates. Warmth brushed his digits; hotter than usual due to the rapid tempo of pulses from emotions playing havoc on his systems. 

Just one shot… 

_ Would you have done it though? Killed someone who was utterly defenseless? _

Jazz’s voice spoke to him, tugging at his morality. Bee looked out over the ocean again. 

The stars glittered above, their reflection not visible against the dark water. Even the moon’s light was subdued as if it too were being pulled down into the depths beyond.

The water flowed in and out as always but now he could sense it watching him. 

Waiting for him.

Just one giant void laid out before him.

Bee shuddered.

_ “You know that’s not like you…” _

“Maybe it should be,” he answered, already feeling doubt before the sentence was even finished.

He could practically hear Jazz snort in response. 

_ “You’re not a killer.” _

“Too late for that." His right hand curled into a fist.

The question still hung in the air.  _ Would  _ he have actually ended Megatron’s life considering the state he was in? 

Jazz fought for what he believed in right until his death and, as gruesome as it was, he did get a chance to lay direct blows on the Decepticon leader. 

A death most bots would be proud to have.

Bumblebee sighed, still conflicted. 

Of course there was no way to know at the time what would happen to Jazz. What would happen to any of them really. If he  _ had  _ killed Megatron, when the other mech couldn’t so much as lift an arm to defend himself, it would have been an underhanded move on his part, all things considering. 

But did that mean he shouldn’t have taken the opportunity to extinguish the spark of the bot responsible for the destruction of their world? 

So many lives lost to the war. So much pain and suffering… 

His throat tightened and he touched the area in reassurance. His neck and chest were intact; the gaping chasm and shredded remains repaired long ago. Yet he could still feel Megatron’s talons as they punctured his body, pulling it apart with sickening snaps and the groaning of metal. He could still see the dark cavern he lay in after. Feel vital fluids spill out and pool under him, while Arcee hovered close, calling his name.

Even after all that, would he go to a level so low as to kill a defenseless bot?

_ You’re one of the good guys, Bumblebee. _

His antennae twitched; it was Alexandria’s voice who spoke to him now. 

Something she had said during one of her visits when their conversation broached on the war. One of the few times he let his guard down on the subject, allowing the small human a glimpse into his uncertainties; the fear that after all this time he was becoming the very thing he fought against.

The determination on her face, her steadfast words, the kindness in her eyes. Everything about her at that moment radiated truth,  _ her _ truth, and the feeling it gave him then had stayed with him well past the end of their visits.

And it was with him again now.

He sat quietly for several long moments.

“A good guy, huh…”

Finally with his answer Bumblebee stood tall and faced the ocean, which no longer looked as dark as before.

“You were right,” he said, knowing somewhere, somehow, Jazz was listening. A small smile returned to his face. “But then again, you always were.”

He could feel approval of his words and while the ache of loss remained, the turmoil of his thoughts were silenced, at least for another day. 


	15. In An Instant

Alexandria lounged on a backyard patio chair, hunched over artwork she’d labored at for the past hour. Her charcoal pencil left black flakes in its wake and she blew off the offending particles, scattering them to the warm fall breeze. Taking a moment’s reprieve, she inspected her work and grimaced. It was supposed to be the Meaford skyline outside her old apartment, something she’d seen countless times before and should get right. Rather, what was on the page was a mess of unfamiliar structures with steepled towers and twisted honeycomb arches.

_Why does this_ _always happen?_ she thought, clamping the pencil between her teeth and running a well-used eraser across the newest section. The ugliness remained and was even worse than before.   

Her shoulders sagged.  _ Every time…  _

It was always the same when she drew from memory, didn’t matter the subject. A mix of realism and abstraction bleeding together with unappealing—if not unique—results. Poor representations of the images she’d pictured and failed to translate. When others viewed her art, most of the time they would _hum_ and _hah_ and nod slowly, kindly. The rather bolder ones acted as if in an epiphany, saying they saw or, laughably, _understood_ the meaning even though she herself had no fucking clue. It wasn’t fun watching adults blatantly lie. 

The only ones who told her the truth were physicians.

And she didn’t show them her work anymore.

Withholding the urge to shred the drawing into a million satisfying strips, Alex switched to a softer pencil and tried to correct the areas that bothered her the most. The eerie spirals that pierced a bleak sky were much too foreboding for her taste. 

More lines were added to the others, softening the sharp peaks, but the pencil soon stilled and she stared at the spot it rested for a long moment.

“Dammit.” She flopped back against the chair with a sigh, one arm cast over her eyes. 

It was pathetic how frustrated she got. Her artistic abilities weren’t going to magically change for the better, especially after all this time.  _ “Embrace your creativity,” _ her mother had told her and the advice sounded solid at the time. Alex tried and for a while it worked. Until she drew her mother’s portrait. The vacant socket where a right eye should be and the cables that twisted about her head were terrifying. 

She’d burned that picture.

With a huff and deciding the cityscape could wait for another day, the sketch was freed from its pad and put inside the clamshell box beside her. A wafer-thin sheet of glassine paper covered the fragile medium.

Armed with a fresh page, she looked around for inspiration. 

Her gaze settled on Sam's car. 

The Camaro sat just beyond the open doors of the garage, shining in the sunlight, not a speck of dirt on its yellow and black panels. 

A pristine epitome of American motoring greatness.

_ He must wash that thing daily _ , she thought, selecting a pencil with a harder composition and outlining its general shape on the paper. 

Drawing was  _ much  _ easier this time around, thanks to having a model and not just her shotty memory. With a workable rough sketch, Alex relaxed against the chair and chipped away at the Camaro’s details, transforming the vacant framework into something sleek and stylish and worthy of its predecessor.

Just as she started to add value to the picture, the patio door whacked sharply behind her. 

"Hey, that's a pretty good drawing of him," a male voice spoke up. 

Alex paused and cast a curious look over her shoulder. "You don't consider your car a female?"

Sam, munching loudly on an apple, shrugged as he joined her. "Er no, but isn't that how it is? Cars are boys, boats girls?" He leaned over to inspect the plastic bin holding her art supplies.

"I think you're asking the wrong person." She grinned, holding up the drawing to compare it to the original. "You think it's good, huh? Nice to know I can still draw from observation—uh careful with that,” she warned as Sam grabbed her crafting knife.

A curious expression crossed his face. "What on Earth do you use this for? Defending yourself from competition?" He waved it in front of him, making  _ whooshing  _ sounds suspiciously similar to a lightsaber. His voice rose to a higher note, mimicking her tone. "You think you can just steal my art? I'll cut you!"

"No you dork." Alex laughed, holding up a pencil. "You sharpen these with it."

"Oh... Well that's disappointing." The knife dropped back in the bin. "I rather enjoyed picturing a bunch of artists in a death brawl. Paint getting all over. Brushes flying through the air."

"Oh, the humanity," she drawled.

"Right?" He looked proud of himself for coming up with the concept. "Art would be cool if that happened."

Alex erased a few areas on the Camaro, giving it the impression of glinting highlights under a bright light source. "You know, art is supposed to be relaxing, Sam, not violent," she teased. "So sorry, I really don't think your art fight club is going to work out."

"Just give it a few years, it'll catch on." He polished off the remainder of his apple and tossed it in a nearby garbage bin. "Hey, I'm heading out to the beach, wanna come along?" He jerked a thumb at his car. "Pretty awesome ride on the freeway."

"The beach?" The pencil rolled between her fingers as she mulled over the invitation. "Been a while since I've been to one."

"It'll be fun. There's a boardwalk there with an arcade and some decent grub. Water’s usually still warm this time of year."

Alex’s gaze dropped to the clamshell box. She certainly wasn’t doing anything important and her productivity was abysmal. A change of scenery might just be the boost she needed.   

"Alright.” She packed away her things. “Just give me about ten minutes to get ready." As ideal as her paint-stained button up and pajama pants were for Sunday morning lounging, they were a little  _ too _ casual for the public. 

"Sure thing." Sam grinned ear-to-ear. "I'll let Mikaela and Miles know we're on our way."

Alex stopped short. "Oh... you already have people you're going with?"

"Yeah." Sam, phone already open in his palm, looked up at her from his spot on the lawn. "That okay?"

“I guess—I mean—of course it’s okay. I just don’t want to intrude… or anything.” She was glad her arms were full. Better than wringing her hands together uselessly. “Wait, you know what”—she cut off Sam’s reply and plastered on a fake smile—”ignore what I just said. I’ll be ready in ten—er—fifteen minutes, okay?”

“I… uh, okay?”

Leaving a bewildered Sam behind, Alex raced to her room. The art supplies were shoved unceremoniously under the bed and her clothing flung to the floor as she stripped down to her underwear, almost losing her footing and face planting into the carpet in the process. 

So much for a relaxed outing with her cousin.

Most of her nice clothes had been put away in the closet already and the hangers screeched against the metal bar as she scoured her options. 

Dress. Dress. Something she wore to a wedding once.  _ Oh God, no _ . Ugly skirt. Another dress.

_ Don’t I own anything remotely—oh wait…  _

With a triumphant cry she pulled out the lacy peasant shirt. Its delicate pattern and long bell sleeves made it fancy enough to give a good impression. Paired with jean shorts and flat sandals, she deemed the outfit acceptable after a quick view in the mirror and raced to the bathroom to refresh her makeup and hair.

Alex was back outside in twelve minutes flat, huffing and puffing and clutching a purse full of random things she’d thrown into it along with her wallet. 

Sam watched from his position against the car’s front bumper, an amused smile on his face.

“What?” Alex asked between breaths as she joined him.

“It’s just the beach.” He gave her dolled-up appearance a pointed once over.  

“I know.” She slung the bag over her shoulder and gave him an equal, if not challenging, look. “But have you seen your girlfriend?”

“Well, yeah. She’s pretty—”

“ _ Gorgeous _ . And I’d prefer not to look like a bag of garbage next to her.”

A snort and eye roll was her answer and Sam opened the passenger door. “Just get in, oh-silly-one.”

Alex scooted around him and slid into the front seat, shifting over a bit as the door was closed. Once inside, she got a good view of the interior she’d seen previously through tinted glass. 

Impressive only began to describe it. 

Her hand traveled over the trim to the handle and then up to the seat belt, which she pulled across her lap, securing the buckle into its latch. Her hands settled on the seat, thumb circling against the leather, which was rich and plush. She sunk into the supportive curves with a blissful sigh. 

_ Lucky bastard,  _ she thought, an idiotic grin plastered on her face. She inhaled deeply and was met with a wonderful fresh scent. Fully expecting something along the lines of a ‘new car’, it surprised her there wasn’t any harsh or cheap odors lingering in the air. Just a warm, perhaps even spicy, clean smell that reminded her a bit of sandalwood. 

Sam, fully aware of the effect the car was having, gave her a wide smile as he joined her, taking position in the driver’s seat “Nice, huh?”

“You  _ lucky  _ bastard!” she repeated aloud with a laugh, giving an appreciative look along the dash. “This is a beautiful car, Sam. It really is.”

He chuckled, “Wait until you see him in action.” He turned the keys in the ignition and the Camaro’s engine roared to life.  

Alex shivered, the vibrations purring beneath her. “This thing must fly,” she breathed in awe as Sam drove down the lane way and took a right onto the street. “How fast can it go?”

“Zero to sixty in just under four seconds. Two hundred miles per hour max speed,” he bragged.

“There’s  _ no  _ way you’ve done two hundred,” she scoffed.

“No but got up there. About one ten. One twenty.”

Alex gave him a teasing grin, “And you still have your driver’s licence?”

“There’s a race track that I go to sometimes with Mikalea,” he explained. “She’s a real car nut. Anyway, that’s where  _ I  _ get away with driving at those speeds.”

“Your parents don’t object?” Alex cocked a brow. The speeds he was describing were pretty damn fast. “That is assuming they know about your race track.”

He hissed through his teeth. “Ahh… let’s just say they do and they don’t.”

“Way to be clear on that, Sammy.”

“They know about the track, they just don’t know about the speed. Why?” He caught her fraught expression. “You worried about me?”

“It is fast…” She shifted in her seat, arms crossing her torso in a gentle squeeze. 

“I’ll be okay,” His voice was soft, the humor of the conversation fading. “You’d be surprised how many safety features this car has.” His hand patted the steering wheel and the Camaro rumbled as if in agreement. 

Somewhat appeased, she gave him a nod. They engaged in a bit of small talk as they made their way to their first destination. Along the way Sam pointed out a few places he thought she might be interested: a new shopping plaza popular with the girls from his high school, an ice cream parlor boasting one hundred flavors to choose from, a giant youth center with a fairly active nightlife during the weekdays. 

It was a very sweet gesture on his part and she felt a deep appreciation for his company.

Soon they were pulling up the stony driveway of a sprawling red-brick ranch. Sam left the Camaro running as he got out.    
  
“Be right back—er—what are you doing?” he asked as Alex got out as well. 

“Moving.” Her fingers felt along the seat for the controls. They barely grazed them when the seat slid forward. “Figured girlfriends get automatic shotgun.”

“You might want to hold that thought seeing how this is Miles’ place,” Sam replied. 

“Too late, already getting in.”

He rolled his eyes and jogged up to the house, only to have the door open before he could knock. 

Alex inspected Sam’s friend as the boys greeted each other with handshakes, fist bumps and laughter. Miles appeared harmless enough. His skin was the typical bronze from California living and the hair that flipped up at its ends above his shoulders was a strawberry-blonde color she envied. “Game Over” was scrawled across the front of the loose grey T-shirt he wore and it was paired with long colorful Hawaiian shorts and chunky sandals. A playful combination. Very fitting for the goofy grin plastered to his face and the snippets of conversation about skateboarding she could make out.  

“Alex, you remember Miles, right?” Sam gestured to his friend as they got into the car. 

“Hey,” Miles said, reaching back a hand. “It’s been awhile.”

“Hey,” she echoed, clasping her hand in his in a brief shake, his grip lax but warm. “I think the last time I saw you was at your tenth birthday party. The one with the slip-and-slide.”

“Oh yeah!” Miles turned to Sam, “Remember that slide? That thing was the bomb, especially after we added the—oh what was it…”

“The mud pit?”

Miles snapped his fingers. “Yeah, the mud pit. Man, that slide was the best.”

“Unless you count the time we tried using it down the hill in your backyard. I still have the grass burns.” Sam chuckled as they headed out onto the road. “We made that thing a death trap.”

“Science. All in the name of science.” Miles kicked back in the front, one foot up pressing against the dash.

“Dude. Feet.” Sam snapped.

“Oh, sorry, man.” The foot dropped back to the floor and Miles wiped at the dusty print he left behind. “Keep forgetting you’re not driving that shitty beat-up Camaro anymore.”

The car gave a deep-throated growl as they rounded a corner. 

“Wait,” Alex caught Sam’s eye in the rear view mirror. “You had _ another _ Camaro before this one?”

Sam shook his head. “No, not really. That one was just a tester.”

“And then  _ daddy _ surprised him this bad boy.” Miles flashed a grin at Alex. “Must have taken some epic level brown-nosing to pull that off.”

“Miles, shut up,” Sam said.

“No, you shut up.”

The two bickered back and forth, flinging mild-mannered insults, before dissolving into an in depth discussion about a new video game Miles just bought. 

Alex, now no longer a part of the conversation, leaned against the side of the car, watching the scenery as it passed by. She didn’t mind. There wasn’t much to contribute anyway and nothing was worse than forcing a conversation. Besides, Sam and Miles seemed fully content to chatter between themselves. 

_ Here’s hoping it goes well with Mikaela, _ she thought, eyes downcast. Her fingers, which were splayed on the seat, curled into a fist. Experience taught her that girls tended to be harder to read compared to their male counterparts; often showing one face while hiding another.

The popular ones especially and, by the way Sam described her, it sounded like Mikaela ran in those circles.

The car slowed to a stop in an alleyway behind a small bungalow  packed tightly between other copies of itself. The yards were divided by a mix of chain link and wooden fences, keeping both passersby and neighbors separated from each other. There came barking from the house closest to them and Alex could see the legs of a large dog pacing back and forth behind the gate. 

“Gonna get Mikaela, be right back,” Sam said in a rush as he jumped out. 

Alex could hear Sam yelling the dog’s name and ordering him to stay down as he squeezed through the sliver of space he allowed himself to get into the property.

“Guess I have to change seats because we can’t put Bunny in the back” Miles muttered, unlatching his door. 

“Sorry?” Alex shifted over to the opposite side as Miles joined her and buckled in.

He shook his head. “Nevermind.”

Silence descended over the car as Miles watched the house. Something had changed in the last moment. A dark cloud hanging over him even though his expression remained neutral. She couldn’t figure it out.  

Thankfully, they didn’t have to wait long. 

The happy couple appeared at the door, smoothing down hair and adjusting clothing. Alex smiled and shook her head as Sam tried and failed to hide the telltale wipe he gave his lips. Once Bones the dog was shooed inside, the pair were climbing into the car and another round of introductions began.

Sam, with the biggest grin she’d seen yet, gestured to the newcomer whose picture definitely did not do her justice.

_ Thank God I changed... _

“Alex, this is my girlfriend, Mikaela Banes. Mikaela, this is my cousin, Alex Taylor.”

“Nice to meet you.” Mikaela’s voice was soft and kind and she gave a little wave as she settled into the passenger’s seat. “Sam’s told me a lot about you.”

“Oh?” She managed to suppress a flinch. 

Sam piped up. “Only good things, don’t worry.” His tone was playful but the look she received in the mirror was serious.

“I’ve heard about you too,” Alex echoed. “From both Sam and his parents. All good things as well.” 

Mikaela flashed a set of dazzling white teeth her way before twisting in her seat to greet Miles. He simply nodded in reply. 

There was less conversation during the last leg to the beach and Sam switched on the radio part way there. Catchy rock filtered through the speakers and Alex sang along silently, tapping periodically to the beat. The music was entertaining and also acted as an icebreaker to whatever was going on between Miles and Mikaela.  Alex glanced Sam's way but it he was aware of the atmosphere he didn't give any indication of it.

As the ocean appeared, banked by white sands and a cloudless blue sky, Alex reveled in the picturesque scenery. “I forgot how beautiful this place was.” 

“It went through a rough period,” Mikaela spoke up. “Trash and vandalism. There was also a massive overgrowth of weeds. But the city put money into restoring the shoreline and now it’s something to be proud of.”

“It sounds like you’ve been here a lot." 

“Quite a bit growing up,” Mikaela explained. “My dad had a couple of… well, I guess you would call them business partners around here, so while he was working, I got to spend hours here just hanging out and stuffing myself silly with corn-dogs and cotton candy.”

Alex frowned. What kind of parent took their child to a beach and then abandoned them? 

The way MIkaela’s gaze trailed away as she spoke made Alex suspect the other girl shared her sentiment.

The Camaro jerked lightly as Sam pulled to a stop in a parking spot facing the water. Alex stretched as she got out, inhaling the warm salty breeze. 

Sam and Miles took off, racing down the dunes to the shoreline where they immediately started to splash in the surf and throw clumps of wet sand at each other. Mikaela joined Alex’s side. 

“Seventeen and going on twelve.” She sighed and tilted her head their way. “I don’t suppose you want to join them?”

“As long as I stay out of their range.”

“Yeaah,” Mikaela drawled as Miles successfully shoved a huge handful of sand down the back of Sam’s collar making Sam yelp and hastily tear off his shift to get at the offending mess. “I don’t feel like getting sand into certain crevices today either.” 

The two of them removed their shoes and walked along the water’s edge, trailing after the boys. Alex was surprised that even when Sam and Miles settled down and began combing the beach for shells and other treasures, Mikaela remained by her side, indulging her in light conversation revolving around school and the latest music and shows. It was vastly different from what Alex imagined and as she listened to Mikaela reveal herself little by little she felt ashamed for judging her so quickly. 

“Hey, aren’t you hot in that?”

Alex snapped out of her thoughts. They were back in the parking lot. Mikaela gestured to Alex’s shirt before climbing up to perch on the hood of the Camaro.

“I’d be sweltering in long sleeves,” Mikaela pulled away the hair trailing at her neck to fan herself. Overhead, the midday sun beat down on the pair.

“It’s a light fabric…” Alex replied, her brows pinching together as she looked between Mikaela and the car.

Catching on, Mikaela laughed and patted a spot beside her. “Don’t worry. It’s completely fine if we sit up here.”

A little odd, considering Sams’ earlier reaction to Miles. 

“Actually, I was thinking of grabbing a drink. Want anything?” Alex looked at the nearby food shops along the boardwalk. The variety was impressive and her mouth started to salivate from the sweet odor of baked goods. Everything deep fried, unhealthy, and delicious. 

"Oh, sure," Mikaela dug in her purse. "A lemonade would be great. Want me to come with you?" 

Alex waved her away. "No, that's okay. Also my treat.”

She left Mikaela and went off in search of something cold and refreshing.

The boardwalk was alive with all sorts of sights and sounds and soon Alex became swallowed by the crowd moving through and around the various shops and eateries. In the far distance the iconic shape of a Ferris wheel turning lazily against the blue sky and she admired the sight, thinking how pretty the lights would look backed by a starry sky and dark water. Faint screams from thrill seekers rose just above the din around her and a giant pendulum ride spun vertically, end over end, further out on the pier. Her stomach churned. Nope. No way. It’d be a cold day in hell before she was crazy enough to go on something like that.

Selecting an appealing drink vendor she purchased two lemonades and a paper cone stuffed with churros. She carefully made her way back to the parking lot, weaving around obstacles that threatened to knock the cups from her hands while trying to eloquently nibble away at the sugar-coated treat.

On rounding a kiosk she caught sight of Mikaela alone, still perched on the Camaro’s hood. The girl was smiling and laughing and—unless Alex was seeing things—having an animated conversation with herself. Maybe too much sun and sugar were to blame for Mikaela noticed her presence and acted as if nothing was out of the ordinary. 

“Thanks so much for this.” Mikaela graciously accepted the lemonade along with an offered churro. Alex cautiously joined her on the hood.

“Sam and Miles just left for the arcade. I said we’d join them after this,” Mikaela said.

Alex nodded and the two of them sat quietly watching the ocean. Gulls fluttered about along the shoreline, occasionally letting loose their characteristic laughing calls. 

“So… does your dad still work around here?” Alex asked, casting a glance along the buildings lining the nearby street. 

Mikaela was quiet for a moment. “No, not for a while now. He’s actually been away from home due to some issues with his job.” She fiddled with the tip of her straw, stirring the quickly melting ice cubes left in the bottom of the cup. “It’s been… difficult without him.”

“And your mom?”

A dry laugh escaped her. “I’m not sure. I haven’t seen her since she packed up and moved to Maine; too busy with her new husband and son.”

"Oh, I'm sorry..." Alex said softly.

Mikaela took Alex’s empty cup from her and left the Camaro to toss them in the nearby trash. “You don’t need to look so worried.” She gave a half-smile back at her. “It happened a long time ago." 

“It’s just you and your dad then?”

“And Stacey. The girlfriend,” Mikaela caught Alex’s questioning look. She rejoined her on the car. “Good ol’ Stacey. Hanging around in the house even though he's not there anymore. I guess she means well. Trying to to play mom sometimes..." Mikaela shook her head back and forth slowly. "She's not really good at it though and more often than not I'm the one telling her bills need to be paid… groceries need to be bought."

Mikaela stared off into the distance at the ocean rolling lazily toward them. Frothy peaks broke as they hit the shore. Alex studied Mikaela’s face noticing she appeared older in that moment, creases across her brow where worry marred her before. The look of someone growing up faster than needed. 

Alex knew that look. 

She had seen it many times in her own reflection.

The moment was fleeting and Mikaela quickly hid her pain with a flick of her wrist, brushing hair away from her face. The white of her smile was back and, curiously, she gave the Camaro beneath her a gentle pad.

"It's okay," Mikaela said again and Alex wasn't sure she was talking to her anymore, the girl’s eyes lingering on the gleaming metal beneath them.

 

0-0-0-0-0

 

Their time at the beach came to an end. 

Once the boys were up from the arcade—both griping and moaning about losing money to the ancient machines gathering dust and being replaced by home counterparts—they all jumped back into the gleaming Camaro and sped off. 

"Man, I used to destroy Street Fighter." Miles huffed. "What happened?"

"I believe it means you're getting old." Mikaela teased from her prime spot in the front. Miles glowered at her, the seat hiding his expression from her view but it was noticed by Alex who sat beside him once again. Sam laughed along with Mikaela, the sounds carefree and light, and Alex caught the sparkle in his eyes as he stole glances at his girlfriend. 

"Well I had a lot of fun. Thank you for inviting me," Alex said.

Miles scoffed, “Yeah well you’re not out ten bucks.” His voice was dry but then he grudgingly admitting the beach had been a good time, losses included.

“I'm glad I was able to get you away from home for a bit and that your first outing won’t be your last.” Sam joked, the streets speeding by as he headed back to the house.

“Yeah…” Alex agreed, her attention drifting. 

_ Home. _

The word tasted bittersweet and she turned her face toward the window, pretending to be enthralled by the passing scenery but in actuality hiding the wetness of her eyes. The seat belt tightened briefly across her torso with the movement.

Sam and the others droned on in the background and soon Sam was pulling into the driveway. 

A wave of exhaustion hit as Alex unclipped her belt. As much as she enjoyed herself, it was good to be back where she could be alone. Sam briefly left his seat so she could get out and rolled down the window once he was back in the car.  

“Are you sure you don’t mind being dropped off first?” he asked. He wanted to spend more time with Mikaela and since Miles’ house was closer to hers, it made sense to repeat the order of their pickup. 

"I'm sure.” She spoke over him at Mikaela. “It was nice meeting you.” Miles received a wave and he returned it in earnest.

“When my parents get back, tell them I’ll be home in a bit. They can call if they need me to pick anything up,” Sam added. 

“Will do.” Alex dug around in her purse, fingers brushing against the jagged end of her house key. Unfortunately, the key and its keyring companion—a pudgy tweed owl plushie she’d gotten from her mother—were nestled on the bottom of her space-limited purse. The forceful tug she gave ended up spilling out the contents, sending them clattering to the ground. “Shit…” She hissed, trying to follow the direction everything bounced and rolled. She gave Sam an apologetic look. “Sorry! I’m sorry… I’ll just”—she grabbed her wallet and hairbrush from where they’d fallen just behind the front wheel, dusting away the grit from their surfaces—“be two seconds. Just don’t drive off and hit me with your car.” 

Sam leaned out his window, craning his neck to view the devastation. “Wouldn’t think of it. And is… is that… baby wipes?” 

Alex snatched the package up along with several tampons that littered the ground, ears burning. “Yeah, so?”

“You can remove makeup with them, Sam,” Mikalea spoke up, changing the teasing grin on Sam’s face to something along the lines of disbelief. 

“Really? Huh… you learn something new everyday.”

Alex scoured the area for any remaining items, moving around the front of the car as she did so. “Remember, don’t run me over!” she hollered as she knelt, bracing her right hand against the yellow paneling just below the vents. 

There!

A small tube of lipstick lay under the car. 

“Thought you could get away that easy, huh?” Alex grunted as she repositioned herself and reached out, fingertips just brushing the plastic container. An additional curse and stretch had the lipstick in her grasp and she climbed to her feet, the impressions in her palms and knees from the tiny stones littering the driveway slowly fading. She clapped the dust from her clothing. 

_ I guess clumsy isn’t the absolute worst thing Sam’s friends could label me as…  _ she thought wryly, giving everyone a meek wave before turning on her heel to seek refuge in the house, an embarrassing flush prickling across her skin.

 

0-0-0-0-0

 

The engine’s rumbling cut short as the Camaro stopped behind Mikaela’s house. Sam looked apprehensively at the darkened building sitting quietly in the dimming sunlight. 

“She’s not back yet, huh?” he asked, noting how Mikaela’s attention was focused in the same direction, brows pinched together and a sour downward turn to her full lips.

“That’s what happens when you go on a bender,” she muttered. The words hung in the air between them, bitter and spoken before. “The better it is, the more you don’t want it to end. She’ll crawl back eventually, once the money runs out or her friends decide they’ve had enough of her freeloading.” Her grip tightened around the handles of the quilted Chanel bag nestled on her lap—one of the only gifts left from her dad she didn’t have the heart to get rid of. Sam reached across to pull her hand into his grasp. His thumb rubbed small circles against the warm skin. 

“You can always stay at my house.” An offer he’d made many times before. So much so that he continuously questioned where Stacey’s drinking money came from. It wasn’t as if the woman held a job, unless you counted sitting at home milking disability for a back injury that was as sincere as the one claiming it. 

Mikaela shook her head, turning to him. The drain was there on her face but her eyes glittered and hand tightened against his. “Thank you, but I’ll be fine. It’s actually nice not having to share my supper and the peace and quiet is better compared to the crappy country stations she listens to through the night. Besides, it sounds like Alex is still settling in at your place. It wouldn’t be proper to have your girlfriend hanging around all the time.”

Sam scoffed. “The house is plenty big. I’m sure it wouldn’t be a problem. But I won’t push it. I know you’ll be fine… that you can take care of yourself.” His thumb skimmed across her wrist, the faint pulse there seeming to flutter from the gentle caress. “Just remember that if there’s a time when you  _ aren’t _ fine, you’ll always have a place to go where you won’t be alone.”

Her eyes closed briefly before she nodded. “Thank you,” she whispered.

They sat in comfortable silence for several moments, the house nearby no longer casting such an ominous shadow.

“Do you think Alex liked me?”

Sam’s fingers stilled where they’d been tracing patterns against her forearm, the soft hair there lifting slightly from the goosebumps arising in response to his touch. “Alex? Of course she liked you.”

“Are you sure?” Mikaela rested her head against the seat as she regarded him with skepticism. “She didn’t say much... ”

“Alex is pretty quiet to begin with. I’m actually surprised you got her to say anything at all. Why?” he questioned, not missing the small pout on her lips. 

“Maybe I came on too strong…” she mumbled, avoiding both his gaze and the question. 

“ _ Relax _ .” Sam laughed, leaning closer to her so she focused on him again. “You did fine. Stop worrying about what my cousin thinks.”

“You  _ know  _ your family’s approval means a lot to me, Sam."

His hand came up to cup her chin. “I do and they approve. My parents already adore you and I am particularly smitten by you—”

“Smitten?” she giggled. “What an interesting way to say you like me too.”

“ _ Really  _ like you,” he corrected. He was closer to her now, hand still tracing along her jawline. The subtle sweetness of perfume and shampoo teased him with notes of orange and jasmine. “And why  _ wouldn’t  _ I be smitten by someone so kind”—his lips brushed over hers earning him a pleasurable sigh—“...and brave. Smart… passionate…” The words became muffled as she melted into his embrace, her mouth fully against his now, the kiss deepening. She enjoyed hearing compliments and he gave them freely. Sincerely. But never did he call her gorgeous… hot… beautiful. Never compliments about her appearance. At least not during moments like these. He didn’t deny her attractiveness—she was a raven-haired goddess in his eyes—however, others had called her those things before. Many,  _ many _ times over. It was all they knew her as. Something beautiful to look at. To lust after…

No… He was never hollow with his compliments. She was complex and amazing and deserved to know he saw more than skin deep. 

His hand dropped to her thigh just below the line of her shorts, fingers cautiously and tenderly testing the unspoken boundaries between them. And when she moaned against his lips—the sound fanning his desire into flames that licked his insides—he slid his palm fully across the silky heat, squeezing ever so slightly. He felt her own hand clutching at the front of his shirt, pulling him closer. Another moan…

They both stiffened, lips parting and eyes going wide as they looked at each other in sudden realization. Sam felt heat rising up his face and he saw the spreading redness of a flush across MIkaela’s neck and cheeks. Both pulled apart abruptly, leaning back into their seats and speaking in unison.

“Sorry, man.”

“Sorry, Bee…”

There was a moment of silence before a low hum echoed around the interior. “That’s alright,” Bumblebee replied softly, awkwardness distinguishable in his voice. “I was busy watching an episode of Futurama…”

Sam rubbed at the back of his neck, not sure where to direct the conversation. Luckily Mikaela spoke for him.

“You can tell us when we’re being inappropriate or if we’re making you uncomfortable,” she said, her expression gentle and understanding. 

A chuckle came from the radio but it didn’t hold any mirth. “Compared to some of the other things I’ve experienced, this is on the lower end of that scale. I’m used to it anyway. Comes with the territory when your species pretends to be inanimate objects.”

The sting behind the statement made Sam flinch and he guessed Mikaela felt the same way, given the sharp inhale she took.

“That didn’t… It wasn’t”—Bee stuttered before he gave a defeated sigh—“...I didn’t mean it that way.”

Mikaela reached out, her fingers tracing along the textures of the dashboard in a gesture of comfort. “I know but it’s true. We acted as if you were just a car. As if we had forgotten you were here…” The guilt was all over her face and in her voice. “And that’s  _ not  _ right. It means we’re not doing a very good job of being your friends.” 

“I’ll do better,” Sam promised gruffly and Mikaela echoed with a solemn ‘ _ me too _ ’. “Just, you know, smack me upside the head or something if I need a reminder.” 

“That… wouldn’t be advisable.”

Sam huffed a laugh. “Yeah, I suppose not. Fragile human and all. Look… are we okay?”

“Of course,” Bee said and Sam breathed a sigh of relief. Bee continued. “And I honestly didn’t mean to imply anything. I just… have a lot on my mind right now. That’s all.”

“The Diego Garcia move, huh?” Sam grimaced. The date was approaching fast and all three of them were still trying to process the turn of events.

“Yeah. The move…” Bee repeated softly.

“We’ll still keep in touch though, right?” Mikaela asked with a healthy optimism that Sam had felt too before Mathews shot it down. “You can visit whenever you’re stateside and there’s tons of ways we can talk otherwise. Email, phone—”

“That’s  _ if  _ they allow it,” Sam retorted, the displeasure in his voice obviously referring to ‘ _ they’  _ as the human involvement in the matter.

Bumblebee whirred, a long drawn out sound. “We might face some Autobot disapproval as well.”

Sam’s face fell. “Wait,  _ Optimus  _ would be against it? But—but why?” he asked at the confirmatory tone emitted from the speakers.  

“Communication brings risks with it and Optimus was never one to ignore the risks. It’s a practice that’s kept him and many Autobots alive over the years. Myself included,” Bee explained.

Dismayed, knowing the risks Bee was referring to regarded human—specifically his and Mikaela’s—mortality, Sam slumped in his seat. Beside him Mikaela sat in silence. He could see her out of the corner of his eye and knew she was deep in thought by the set of her jaw and lowered brows.

“You know what?” she said, giving both him and Bee a look of resolve. “Some things are worth the risks and I think this”—her finger made a small inclusive circle in the air before her—“this is worth it.”

“So, you’re saying...?” Sam trailed off.

“Fuck ‘em.”

“Fuck ‘em? You know them  _ includes  _ Optimus, right? Bee  _ just  _ mentioned that.”

She cocked her head, black hair spilling over one shoulder. “I have the utmost respect for Optimus. It doesn’t mean I have to agree with everything he says.” Blue eyes squinted at him in a challenge. “And I  _ know _ you feel the same way. At least about this.”

He didn’t even need a moment to think about it. She was right, of course. Sam drew himself up a little straighter. “I knew we were getting into some heavy shit the moment we decided to go along with you after that fight with Barricade.” He directed his response to Bee. “And if I wasn’t afraid then, I’m not going to let a little hypothetical threat worry me now.” A wry grin tugged at his lips. “What do you think, buddy?”

An amused trill echoed about the interior. “I have been known to  _ bend _ the rules from time to time.” This brought forth several chuckles from the two humans. “In all honesty, I’d be hard pressed to go against a direct order, but”—he quickly cut off Sam’s reply—“maybe I can convince Optimus it wouldn’t be in our best interest to cut ties with any allies, especially ones so determined. And we all could use the extra support, anyway, considering… well… everything that’s happened.”

Far from home. Stuck on an alien planet with government officials breathing down your neck. Losing those close to you. Yeah… Sam could definitely get behind that. “Even though we may not have the skills for the battlefield, we’re more than equipped to handle the R&R side of things,” he said, chest puffing out with pride.

“Team Downtime does has a nice ring to it,” Mikaela agreed. “Road trips. Beach days. Long meaningful conversations. All nighter movie extravaganzas.  _ And  _ I have been known to throw pretty spectacular parties. Guaranteed to take your mind off things for  _ at least _ a weekend.”

“That all sounds wonderful,” Bee said with longing. 

“And speaking of conversations… I’m curious... “ Mikaela began, giving a quizzical look at Bee. “You mentioned being—um—privy to more uncomfortable situations?”

“I did.” 

Amusement flashed in her eyes. “Feel like sharing the worst example that comes to mind?”

“Ah… ”

Sam groaned. “I thought we were supposed to be  _ avoiding  _ the uncomfortable parts and asking about them definitely makes me feel like we’re doing the opposite.”

“Oh common,” MIkaela argued, a wide grin splitting her face. “I  _ love  _ Bee’s stories and I have to say my interest is definitely piqued.” 

“Oh it’s interesting to say the least...” Bee replied. 

Knowing he wasn’t going to win, Sam receded his protest. He seemed to be doing that a lot these days. Apparently it came with the girlfriend territory. “Alright,  _ alright _ . If he doesn’t mind telling it then I’m all ears. Lay it on us, Bee.”

“Well...” Bee’s vents cycled softly, the equivalent of a hesitant breath. “I was chasing this Con a number of years ago. He had some stolen data that several of my superiors expressed an interest in getting back. Seeing how I was between missions at the time and rather have me out in the field than underfoot, they felt the task was best assigned my way.”

“Ooo—an embarrassing event while on the job. I like it.” Mikaela leaned forward, nibbling on her bottom lip in anticipation.

“Yeah, lucky me. So lucky that I  _ still  _ hold a grudge against them for being volunteered.” There came a hum from the engine as Bee laughed. “Anyway, here I am tailing this Con—whose designation is Knock Out by the way—to a planet where he tries to lose me in among these giant junkyard-like nest things. Essentially just massive collections of salvage taken from unfortunate ships that have crashed over the eons. Much to Knock Out’s dismay, it doesn’t work and soon we’re trading blows and firing off a couple of potshots here and there; I’m not wanting to damage him too much, least of all I do the same to the data, and  _ neither _ of us want to waste ammo given our current location.”

“Something bigger and badder than the two of you there?” Mikaela asked, the excited look never leaving her face.

Bee rumbled in agreement. “How very perceptive of you.”

Sam could hear the amusement in his friend’s voice now, the story seeming to flow smoother as it went; the benefit of having an eager audience. He found his own enthusiasm increasing by the moment and he too shifted forward in his seat as if it would help him hear better, even though Bee’s voice carried well throughout the small space they were in. 

“I managed to get Knock Out in a hold,” Bee continued, “and just as I’m thinking I’ve got the upper hand, we both hear something coming our way. I drop him like a hot piece of metal and immediately shift into alt-mode. Knock Out, who thankfully is a smart guy himself, does the same.”

“What was it?” Sam all but whispered as Bee paused, playing up the scene. 

“Yarhg.”

The word was like a pirate chugging back a two-litre the way it sounded on Sam’s tongue. “Yarhg?”

“Native species of the planet. Muscular reptilian-humanoid race built like a tank. Four pairs of black eyes. Triangular mouth full of rows of sharp teeth. Razor-edged claws, horns, armor plating—everything fitting an apex predator. They’re particular to shiny things, hence the collected salvage.  _ Very  _ dangerous.  _ Very  _ territorial. Thankfully, not that bright and easily fooled as long as you look like you belong with your surroundings.”

“How big we talking?” Mikaela asked. 

“Females around my size, males just under half that?” Bee estimated. 

“Doesn’t sound too bad,” Sam said only to be quickly corrected.

“To put it in perspective, Ironhide and I fought a male together once, and while we were successful we  _ both  _ ended up in the med bay for a good week after.”

Sam swallowed his prior statement. “Nevermind then…”

“There’s  _ three  _ of them this time. Female and two males. Knock Out and I are  _ definitely  _ playing the camouflage role. So we’re facing each other with a bit of space between us and I’m sitting there just silently  _ cursing  _ the slag out of him—all the while picturing my violent demise should things go wrong—and these Yarhg come right up next to us.”

Bee paused again and Mikaela gave a little squeak. “What happened?”

“Well… I don’t know if it was just the right time for the Yarhg…” Bee started, his voice holding a mix of bewilderment and humor. “Or if we just happened to be in a particularly enticing part of the nest. But whatever it was, the mood… sort of… struck?”

“No!” Mikaela gasped into her hands.

Brain short-circuiting at the implications, Sam blurted out in a high-pitched voice, “Wait, what?”

“They didn’t!” Giggles began to slip past her lips.

“Oh they most certainly did,” Bee said with barely concealed laughter. “The three of them.  _ Vigorously _ .”

Mikaela broke into massive laughing fit of loud, melodic notes while Sam’s face couldn’t decide between slack-jawed horror or a grin that split his mouth wide and burned his cheeks. Terrifying aliens in the spur of the moment ménage à trois? Oh holy hell, the  _ visuals  _ forming in his head took him to a very disturbing place, like being on the dark side of the internet. Full of writhing bodies, grunting and huffs, and the gnashing of teeth. 

"And you just waited and watched them?" He sputtered before Mikaela’s infectious sounds had him devolving into rapid chuckles that resonated in his throat. 

“No. I was actually trying my damnedest to maintain my cover while watching Knock Out." Bee's voice was strained, wavering with the words. "The Yargh, they—uh— they kept bumping into him…" 

“Nooo!” Mikaela wailed between gulps of air. “Dare we ask how it ended?”

A coarse shudder ran through Bee. “The female devoured the males while they were still joined with her.”

She gave a strangled cry while Sam gagged and choked back rising bile.  

“And—and then she left, right?” MIkaela squeaked.

“Yeah.”

“What did you do?” Sam asked, finding his voice. “Knock Out still had the data, right? Did you start fighting again?” 

“Not exactly. Once it was clear, the both of us shifted back and we just kind of looked at each other for a moment… then we went our separate ways without saying a word.” 

Sam squeezed his eyes shut as Mikaela cried with laughter beside him and his face was so tight and sore it felt like it would break from smiling so much.

Bee tried, failed, and then tried again to get the next words out through a radio that crackled and hissed with static. “I--I’ve never seen anyone look so  _ defeated _ .”

“No wonder!” Sam exclaimed. “I can’t even imagine going through something like that.”

“Needless to say Command didn’t get their data.”

“Bee, oh my  _ god,” _ Mikaela said between peals, “I bet  _ that _ experience lingered with you.”

“Lingered yes. It actually led to a rather paranoid habit of making sure new species I meet don’t partake in such a—er—lethal mating practice…”

With tears streaming down her face, Mikaela gestured to herself, “Well be reassured that we humans  _ don’t _ eat each other!”

“I know.” 

Mikaela doubled over in hysterics again which ended in a very loud and sonorous snort. Her hands clapped over her face and Sam grinned at her with a newfound appreciation.

Letting his head loll back against the leather, he felt light, as if he were floating in the quiet that finally settled over them all; broken only by the occasional residual chuckle.

_ The best medicine…  _ he thought with a tired lopsided smile. He looked over at Mikaela who was using the visor’s mirror to wipe mascara trails from the perfect curves of her face.

“That was your  _ best _ story yet, Bee.” She said as one finger traced under her eyes and, satisfied, she flipped the panel up. “I seriously can’t wait until the next one.”

“I have several I think you’ll like then. Maybe the time when Wheeljack brought an alien flower on board and its pollen drugged half the crew.”

“Oh that definitely sounds up my alley.” She flashed a smile, giving the dash a final pat, before leaning over to press a kiss to Sam’s lips. “I should get going though, it’s getting late. Good night you two. Stay out of trouble.” 

“No promises,” Bee rumbled.

“Yeah, what he said,” Sam nodded his head toward the console before pulling Mikaela back to him as she opened her door. She giggled as their lips met again in a sweet kiss that lingered even after she got out. He stared at her retreating form until the house swallowed her up safely behind closed doors. 

“So, home?” Bee asked as he pulled out of the confined alleyway onto a busy street, merging seamlessly with traffic. 

“Actually, maybe hit up the 7-Eleven first if that’s okay. I have a craving for a cherry-Coke Slurpee. All that laughing left me pretty dry.”

The wheel shifted, turning them down a street just shy of the usual route they took. “One caffeine infused sugar beverage that would send Ratchet into spark-failure if he knew you were drinking it coming right up,” Bee said.

The drive was fast and smooth and soon the blazing numerical logo came into view, standing out against the falling night sky like a giant deity among its lesser neon peers. Bumblebee pulled into a spot at the front of the store where white light spilled through massive floor to ceiling windows, giving observers a clear view of the inside. The Slurpee machine could just be seen along the far wall behind a mountain of potato chips.

Bee dampened the sounds of his engine, effectively making it seem as if he was ‘shut off’. Sam, glancing at the perpetually full fuel gauge on his console, cocked his head. “Did you want anything?”

There was little of interest in the store, at least from what Bee could tell from his outside position. Nearby, fuel dispensers clicked and dinged as patrons pumped up their tanks. While something high in octane may have been a nice adjunct to the energon flowing through his lines, he decided against it. The lubricants humans added to gasoline was bitter and didn’t seem worth the miniscule amount of energy it would provide.

“I’m okay, thank you,” he said. Sam nodded and headed into the building. Bee watched his charge go, taking careful note of the other humans in the vicinity. His plates prickled as a police cruiser entered the lot to pull up next to him but its coloring was different, the print on the side read  _ ‘to protect and serve’ _ and a pair of officers, laughing and talking with animated movements, got out. Nevertheless Bee did a quick scan and it came back negative for energon. Not that Barricade would be foolish enough to leave an open signature… 

One of the officers slowed as he walked by Bee’s front, admiring the lines of his alt-form with envious eyes before his partner tugged on his sleeve encouraging him to keep up. Bee followed their movements, inspecting the twin tan and olive uniforms they worse. The proudly displayed emblems of authority made more than one station customer pause before averting their eyes. Something to hide perhaps? Or maybe just weary of the glinting badges and black firearms strapped snugly at their hips.

As the officers headed inside, the same one who had given Bee an appreciative look caught sight of a woman walking toward them from where she had left her car by the pumps. He held the door open and she flashed him a gracious smile as she passed. Purposeful strides carried her deeper into the store and within moments her blonde curls and kind face disappeared beyond the aisles. Bumblebee sank on his tires as an overwhelming sadness washed over him. How could it not when there were coincidental reminders everywhere of the incident that had caused so much pain over the last two weeks. 

His thoughts returned to the move. He didn’t want to go to Diego Garcia. He didn’t want to leave everyone, especially now. Not when he could help… when he knew—

A ping came through on the inter-frequency, the signature ages old, familiar and comforting. 

Optimus.

Bee signaled he was listening and the Autobot leader’s baritone voice filled his head.

_ “Bumblebee. I apologize for not responding sooner.” _

Only a little over an hour had passed but most times personal comms were answered immediately. No need to cause unnecessary worry.  _ “That’s alright. I know you’re busy.”  _ Bee trailed off at the end. Of course Optimus was busy. He was always busy. Being a Prime. Fighting a war. And now with the human-Autobot treaty underway, the base setup and hunting Decepticons all the while shouldering the role of leadership, it was understandable his schedule kept him even more occupied than usual. 

There was a pause spanning only a fraction of a second but still long enough to their kind to be noticable. When Optimus next spoke, some of the reservation always held within his voice had waned.  _ “I will always have time for you.” _

Bee didn’t respond.

_ “Are you unwell?”  _ Optimus asked. “ _ You’re message sounded… troubled.” _

_ “I’m fine.”  _ He kept his tone as neutral as possible but Optimus saw through it immediately, a concerned hum coming through the comm. Bee sighed. “ _ There’s nothing wrong with my physical functioning, _ ” he rephrased, “ _ and as for the other, Ratchet doesn’t need to become involved if that’s what you were wondering.”  _ After Mission City, the medic had been on all of their cases in regard to extensive psychological evaluations. As Bee had lacked the means to escape Ratchet’s attention following the battle—a small necessity called legs—he was the first in the line of fire for the barrage of tests that scrutinized him from head to foot, inside and out. “ _ I have a few things to work out on my end but it’s nothing I can’t handle on my own. I just needed to provide you with an update.” _

Optimus waited patiently.

Bumblebee recalled moments from earlier that day. When items scattered across the ground making Alex seek them out. Kneeling before him, one hand rising to place itself against his plates, tingling warmth arising from the touch. The movement made the linen of her sleeve shift and fall away, exposing creamy skin marred with delicate white lines.

He had seen those marks before. Those scars. 

The ache returned in his chest.  _ “It’s her…”  _ he whispered. “ _ It’s Alexandria.” _

 

0-0-0-0-0

 

The next four days passed by in a blur. With Sam returning to school after his time off for bereavement and Alex tentatively following at his side, Bumblebee spent the majority of the morning and early afternoon alone. Normally he would have accompanied them to school and met up with Sam and Mikaela during their periods off, however, Ron had wanted to ensure a smooth transition for Alex and thus became chauffeur for the next week. Even though he was disappointed, Bee couldn’t find fault with the family support and so he resumed vigilance of a quiet household. Not in the mood for movies, music, or any of the activities he used to engage in during his free moments, he took to sitting in the open garage door watching the small creatures, who called the yard their home, go about their daily lives. Sometimes Mojo would trot by for a visit after a routine scamper around the yard to relieve himself, often with his rubber ball clamped tightly between his teeth for a game of catch. When the urge to move finally forced Bee to his feet, he would take to driving around the local neighborhoods, always being mindful of the time and avoiding the district the school was in. 

Thankfully, his evenings were full as Sam and Mikaela did their best to spend time with him, coming up with activities they all could enjoy. Alex stayed away, hidden inside the house. Sam reported she was busy with school work or her art. Bee figured it was for the best. Only catching glimpses of her was hard enough. 

On the fourth night though, Sam must have said something enticing enough to spark her interest for suddenly she was joining them for a double feature—something called  _ Grindhouse— _ at the local drive-in. Bee was fairly certain it wasn’t the movies that had Sam growing pale and clenching his legs together within ten minutes of the first film and Alex huddled in the middle of the backseat throughout, hiding her eyes with the big bucket of popcorn clutched tightly to her chest. 

Yeah… Definitely not the movies.

Afterward, as he raced through the streets—trying to shake the image of melting humans while being impressed by the hybrid gun-for-a-leg female lead—the reason for Alex’s presence came to light.

“I can’t wait,” she spoke up from the back, a blissful smile touching her face. “I haven’t had Foster’s ice cream in forever.”

_ Still likes her sweets… _ he thought, hiding a melancholic hum with a rev of his engine. 

“I can’t believe you can stomach  _ anything  _ right now.” Sam all but gagged. “That was…  _ graphic _ . And you, you aren’t fazed by any of that gory stuff?” He spared a glance at Mikaela who was nestled comfortably in the passenger’s seat.

“Not really,” she replied. “It’s all fake. A bunch of plastic and rubber and food dye.” She turned in her seat toward Alex, who sat behind her. “Did you know Alfred Hitchcock used chocolate syrup for blood in Psycho? The color didn’t matter because the film was black and white. They just wanted something that looked good consistency wise.”

Alex shook her head. “No, but that’s pretty cool. Do you like this sort of thing? The making of movies and stuff?”

“Not really. I just enjoy films with that gritty look, similar to what we just saw. Reminds me of when I was a kid. My parents and I would watch movies on this ancient, beat up TV we used to have. I also took a media course last year that was honestly a joke. One of those rocks for jocks classes. Figured it was an easy A.” She flashed a smile. “Guess some of the facts stuck.”

“My dad wouldn’t let me take that,” Sam grumbled. 

Finding the opportunity too easy to pass up, Bee quickly hissed out the current radio song with static before flipping over to a different channel. Monotone droning vocals filled the interior.

“ _ We don’t need no education…” _

Alex burst out laughing and Bee’s spark warmed from the sound. 

Sam, looking a little on the surprised side, excused the action. “There’s a lot of radio interference around this area.”

The lyrics softened, the volume waning just a fraction. 

Alex grinned. “Yeah but you have to admit that was great—”

A thunderous rumble cut her off. 

The only warning they had. 

Bee’s tires squealed against the asphalt on his right side exploded with pain, his bulk flung out of his lane by a massive force. Metal screamed against metal, overpowering the startled cries of his friends. Glass crunched and shattered and sharp diamonds showered the road around them.

It felt like he was being torn in half.  

The ground skidded underneath him as he struggled to find a grip, to swerve away from the searing pressure of the great blue pickup’s grill against him. Choking smoke billowed from its engine. Bitter. Just like gasoline. 

His tires caught and he spun away in a dizzying circle. Once. Twice. Finally jerking to a halt as they hit the curb. 

Momentum lost, the pickup sat still—its front crumpled like an accordion—in the center of the intersection. 

The mournful wailing of its horn sputtered and faded as it died.

And then only silence. 


End file.
